Coffee Girl
by Peacewish
Summary: It began with a simple need to escape, but with her it became so much more. Can you fall in love with a girl when you don't even know her name? Seto/Serenity
1. implementation

'**implementation'**

I don't remember exactly when it started, but sooner or later everyone has a breaking point. If I'm not fending off internal coups on my company or dealing with threats against my brother, it's the thousand and one other demands that people make on my time. Research and Development want me in the lab but Accounting demands that I intervene in their crisis with Finance, meanwhile the company lawyers hint at coming tax liabilities for the next year and I still don't know what my competition is up to. Even my little brother, whom I adore, constantly pesters me to spend more time with him, sharing his meals and listening while he prattles incessantly about school and his numerous friends. Everybody wants me for something, and nobody is willing to wait in line.

Like I said, we all have our breaking points.

I realized some time ago that for the preservation of my sanity I had to find somewhere to hide away from the rest of the world, to shelter me from its neverending cacophony of needs. And the place that I found was good, merely blocks away from company headquarters but several light-years away when it came to the peace and quiet it offered.

I swept into the bookshop and selected my usual from the magazine racks, then proceeded to the café for my drink. The whirr of the coffee kettles and hushed conversations between the other patrons was about as noisy as it got; it was tranquility. This shop was an oasis where I could relax and allow my thoughts to roam wherever they would without fear of interruption. It refreshed me and did wonders for my focus for the rest of the week, and when something works I stick to it.

So at precisely three o'clock every Sunday I retreat to my haven. No exceptions.

I made my purchases in the café: the international edition of the Wall Street Journal, the Economist, the international edition of the Times (for the crossword), and a large cup of coffee. Black, no sugar.

And for three beautiful hours I did nothing but sit in the café and skim through the business news, pausing to read this and that, making notes in the margin when I thought something might affect the gaming industry or my company in particular, sipping my coffee and exercising my mind over the Sunday crossword. No one bothered me and I bothered no one. It was perfect.

- - - - - -

Coffee girl changed that. I don't remember exactly when that started either, I just gradually came to expect her about half an hour to forty-five minutes after I'd arrived. She too was a creature of habit, I suppose, and unfailingly she would collect a novel from the shelves, order a cup of coffee, and make herself comfortable at one of the miniature tables. Then for two hours she hardly moved a muscle, utterly and completely absorbed in whatever book she'd selected. I never saw her buy one.

She registered nominally in my mind only because something about her face looked a little familiar, but I couldn't be sure and anyway I didn't care. The outside world didn't belong here and I dismissed any musings on the subject as a waste of my time. But I did grow used to her. There was never a Sunday she wasn't there, sipping her drink and reading, just part of the scenery.

The first Sunday of June was the day that changed everything. It had been a particularly brutal weekend: after taking my brother to play mini-golf like I'd promised, tech rang with the frantic report that systems were crashing all over the building. When I arrived it was nearly midnight and we spent the next twelve hours painstakingly untangling the network until we could isolate the virus and eradicate it. I was sorely tempted to just go home after the ordeal, but in the end routine won. Yawning, I made my way to the bookshop and bought my usual, ready for a relaxing read and then a nap at home. I suppose because the early summer weather was so nice, not that I'd had much of a chance to notice, the café was more crowded than typical. When I made myself comfortable at the last empty table, I should have realized what might happen, but truthfully it never crossed my mind. I'd been coming too long, become comfortable with my unquestioned seclusion. I had no reason to think it would ever be any different.

Until someone cleared her throat. Deep in an analysis of Japan's international trade balance, I was caught unawares and my head jerked up. Coffee girl stood next to my table, fidgeting, and smiled bashfully when our eyes met. The idea of someone attempting communication, here in my sanctuary, was so unthinkable that I could only stare blankly.

It's ironic, when I think of all the bizarre incidents that have been thrown at me in my life, that this was what reduced me to speechlessness.

"Excuse me," she said softly, apparently not noticing my expression. "But it seems all the tables are taken today… and you're the only one alone. Would you mind if I sat here?" She indicated the chair opposite mine carefully, hands full with her book and drink.

It's funny how the simplest action can change everything. I could have told her to get lost. But the thousand nasty insults and threats that sprang automatically into my mind stayed there; they didn't belong in my quiet retreat. And yet without them I didn't know what to do. Indecisiveness paralyzed my vocal chords and, of all things, I shrugged.

She happily took this to indicate acceptance and dropped into the chair, either not seeing or not understanding the shocked horror that must have been all over my face. The Wall Street Journal and the Times were spread all over the table so I could browse the one while I eyed the crossword on the other, but it didn't seem to bother her that I made no move to clear her a space. She set her cup on what was left of the table's surface and started thumbing through the pages of her book, looking for where she'd left off, and all the while I could only stare aghast.

I didn't want her here. This was my table, in my bookstore, where I came to be alone so people couldn't hound me with their thousand and one demands on my time. How dare she invade my personal space like this? Why hadn't I just told her to go?

It was too late now, I could hardly say anything now that she was in the chair. But how was I supposed to relax and read my papers if I had to worry about someone sitting at my table?

Unable to believe that I'd been trapped like this, I sulked and glowered at her. Hardened business executives have wilted under my glare but she didn't even look up, wispy strands of her hair falling across her face as she sipped at her drink. My day had officially been shot to hell, and I briefly considered just leaving. But no, this was my table first and I'd be damned if I let some waify teenage girl chase me away. I came here to relax and god damn it that is what I would do.

I returned to the trade article, hesitantly, half-expecting my concentration to just be interrupted when she grew bored and tried to chat. But there was only silence at our table and I finished browsing the Journal, and moved on to the Economist. I scanned a few interesting articles, made a couple notes, and started in on my crossword puzzle.

By the time I'd filled in the majority of the clues, I'd completely forgotten she was even there. When her chair legs scraped against the floor, the uncharacteristic noise was so unexpected that I looked up again. I don't know if my expression showed annoyance or not, but she offered me a timid smile of apology and stood.

"Thank you. Have a good evening."

I still hadn't spoken a word to her but she did not seem unduly disturbed. She merely nodded and left the café, tossing her empty cup in the trash as she went. I thought then that I could finish the rest of my time here in peace, but when I glanced at my watch I learned it was quarter 'til six and I needed to get going as well. I felt another spurt of irritation, but it wasn't as bitter this time. In fact, I was surprised that the time had passed so quickly. She'd never made a sound.

- - - - - -

It was a variation in my beloved routine, I thought, and dismissed it from my mind as soon as Monday rolled around again. The week blurred past with its usual jumble of company crises, interspersed with the occasional snatch of quality time with my brother. No more grueling than most, but stressful enough that I breathed a real sigh of relief upon arrival at the bookshop. I did notice warily that most of the tables were taken, but they weren't all occupied and I settled contentedly into my favorite spot with my coffee and papers.

One article on currency values and five crossword clues later, a loud burst of laughter cut through my concentration and I looked up. Several tables away, a biggish group of teens had gathered and were laughing and chattering rather loudly, drawing more glares of disapproval than just mine. Outsiders such as these occasionally invaded the café, disrupting the quiet, and although their obnoxious presence was thoroughly annoying we could all take comfort that they never stayed for very long. The problem was that they'd camped out right next to the last available table, taking all but one of its chairs for their own use. Coffee girl looked helplessly at the undesirable seat and then around the café, as if hoping that one last spot might miraculously appear, and our eyes met. I stiffened, and knew there was nothing welcoming about my expression, but she smiled tentatively anyway in mute appeal.

Not again, I griped inwardly. I don't want to share my table, I didn't come here to share tables. I came here to be alone! But then, I wouldn't want to sit next to that noisy group either. Am I so completely inhuman that I'd force her to do that?

While I was caught up in my unexpected internal conflict, she approached my table as silently and unobtrusively as the week before.

"Excuse me… do you mind?"

Yes, actually I do. But there are times that even I'm not proud of my unreasonable callousness. And so I will allow you to share this table, but understand that I don't like it.

I conveyed all this through an indifferent shrug and sharp nod toward the empty seat, and the smile of gratitude lit up her face. If she expected a returning smile then she would be sorely disappointed; I quickly buried myself back in the Economist before she was tempted to try anything like a conversation. Her behavior was orderly enough last week, but now she might think we're on the verge of true friendship or something and try to bond.

Apparently I needn't have worried. She set her cup by the Times and fell into her book almost instantly, clearly entranced. If the cover was any indication then it was one of those silly fantasy novels that are such a waste of time. I rolled my eyes and for the first time noticed that it wasn't coffee at all in her cup. I wasn't sure what it was, but it was pale and foamy and undoubtedly some kind of girly drink. How typical.

I grunted disdainfully, half hoping she would rise to the bait and we could argue, thus giving me a chance to chase her away. She gave no indication that she'd heard me, however, eyes flicking rapidly over the pages and completely immersed in the story. Well, there was something to be said for her focus. But I can focus too. I returned my attention to the Journal and together we read in absolute silence for the next two hours.

At twenty 'til six, she closed her book and emitted a tiny sigh. "Thank you," she half-whispered. "Have a good evening."

- - - - -

Coffee girl flitted through my thoughts a few times that week, inscrutably. In my life there's never time for reflection, it's always about the here and now. But occasionally, slogging my way through a morass of paperwork or some tedious negotiation with labor, she would pop into my mind and break my flow of concentration. That in itself was plenty annoying, but it bothered me still more that I couldn't understand why. Something set her apart from all the other moving faces in my world.

I couldn't pin it down, the difference, and that Sunday I waited in almost restless anticipation for her to appear. I knew it the moment she set foot in the café and without thinking I sat up in my chair, tracking her with my eyes. She might have even felt the look; she turned her head slightly and our gazes locked. I don't know what my expression looked like, I wasn't even sure what I was thinking, but she smiled briefly and made her way to the coffee bar. The café was half-empty today and I knew she would get her own damn table. I could finally read my papers in peace. Right?

Well, I hadn't really had a problem the previous two weeks. And I'd hardly looked at them since I arrived today, too busy waiting for her. Everything was backwards, the routine of my relaxation time was disintegrating and it was all her fault.

"Konichiwa," she murmured softly, yanking me abruptly out of my thoughts. Fantasy novel in one hand, foamy drink in the other, she paused by my table with a touch of uncertainty in her smile. She was waiting for me to provide direction; I could reply with a curt nod that would send her on her way and that would be the end of that.

For the first time I spoke.

"Sit."

It would seem I can't even extend an invitation without phrasing it like an order, and the image of a dog whisked through my mind. Dog… Something tugged at my subconscious, but then she obediently dropped into the chair and it fled. It probably wasn't important anyway, and my mind was too occupied anyway with this new development. I had asked her, in so many words, to join me. What the hell?

"Thank you." She spoke so quietly, I almost had to strain to hear her in the quiet café. Without another word she opened her book and wrapped herself up in the story.

Aha.

That was the difference. Out of all the rotating sycophants and would-be mutineers at work, production suppliers and product buyers, consumer duelists and futile challenger duelists, that persistent bunch with multiple personality disorders and even my own brother, she was the only one to make no demands of me. All she wanted was a chair and some quiet. And that was something that I understood.

'**progression'**

Coffee girl sensed my acceptance after that, or so I'd like to think. Anyway, from then on she helped herself to the seat at my table without pestering me for permission. At most she would greet me with a simple hello, at the very least a friendly nod when our eyes initially met. I would nod too, or if I was feeling particularly amiable I might grunt a response.

Nothing else had changed, I still read the business news and she her precious books with nary a word between us. Of course I wondered why. I wondered why I tolerated it and I wondered why she did it at all, contenting herself to share my cluttered table when most of the time she had her pick of empty ones. I never cleared any space for her, but it clearly didn't matter; nothing mattered once that book was in her hands.

I flicked the odd furtive glance her way sometimes while she was reading, watching her eyes move rapidly across the page. Her pace was impressive even to a speedreader like myself, and she devoured a thick novel roughly every three weeks. But no matter how breathlessly immersed she was, she never failed to pack it up at precisely 5:40, bid me a good evening, and leave as quietly as she'd arrived. But it didn't happen without a tiny and rather wistful sigh, and a final caress of the book before she stood. She didn't want to go, that much was obvious, and I wondered too what her obligations were in that other world out there.

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters

I'm a big Seto/Serenity fan, but this is my first venture into the Yugi-oh fandom and I'll admit right away I don't know everything about the series. I left the country when they were still just partway through the Battle City arc, and I have only a vague idea of what happened after that. This fic is not meant to coincide perfectly with canon events, so let's not bother with corrections. All I'm assuming here is that Seto is finished with high school and is now a full-time CEO.

This is no smack on existing S/S fics, but a lot of the plots out there seem to revolve around the idea of Kaiba targeting Serenity simply _because_ she is Joey Wheeler's little sis. I think the two have plenty of stuff in common besides that, so I figured I'd try a story in which he doesn't know quite who she is. We'll see if it works. Let me know what you think.


	2. interaction

'**interaction'**

The first variation in our comfortable routine came sometime around the end of August, in the middle of a particularly brutal and sticky heat wave. The café was crowded with both regulars and outsiders who'd flocked to this cool retreat, talking quietly and sipping iced coffees. I ignored them as best as I could, but it was noisier than most Sundays and I knew I wouldn't get as much done. I was in the middle of wrestling with a particularly troublesome clue when her voice glided through my thoughts.

"Is that true?"

I looked up, blankly, to find her staring at the headline of an article I'd been reading earlier, in the Journal. The closed novel she hugged to her chest; she must have finished it.

"Is Japan's trade deficit really higher than ever before? That's terrible." I only stared, and when she met my gaze she cringed. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to look at your things."

She'd spoken. She actually said something other than hello or good evening, and with still an hour to go no less. And she'd helped herself to my paper, in a way, though she hadn't actually touched it. I really ought to let her have it.

"Not really," is what I said.

Now she was the one that looked blank. "Not really what?"

"Not really terrible. Yes, Japan's trade deficit is up, but that's no bad thing."

Her eyes widened with surprise and confusion, but they were more inquisitive than argumentative. I hadn't really noticed their color before, a very mellow amber that matched the afternoon sun outside the windows.

"Why not?"

"It's a misnomer, deficit," I tried to explain, very aware that this was my first time to do so. Either my employees understood things like this or they didn't work in jobs that required them to, and certainly my brother didn't care. "It's not the same as what you're thinking, for a company in debt. Trade deficit just means Japan is importing more than it's exporting."

"Oh." She considered this briefly. "But I always hear people talking about it as if it's very bad."

"Well, that's because they're idiots." She blinked at my clipped tone, but I made no retraction. "A lot of people think it's bad because they think money is flowing out of the country."

"Isn't it? If people are buying foreign products, then -"

"Then the money leaves Japan, yes. And the buyer gets the product. Do you think that's wrong?"

"Well…"

"Why do you think someone buys a foreign product?"

"Um, because they can't get it in Japan?"

"Either that, or they can buy it more cheaply than in Japan. One way or another, the buyer is better off for making the purchase. If it's good for him, then why is it bad for the country?" Again she was stumped. "And this is happening everywhere, according to the article. So if all these people are doing so well, then how can it be bad for Japan?"

She looked slightly mesmerized, her wide golden eyes drinking in my every word. I couldn't believe myself. Why was I wasting my time, explaining something like this to a girl I didn't know? I'd never cared before if the unwashed proletariat fell for the 'deficit' scare.

"I never thought of it like that," she murmured, obviously impressed.

"Well, maybe you'd have a better grasp on things if you didn't waste your time on those silly fantasy novels." My words were curt, I know, fueled by the irritation directed more at me than her. I'd just spoken more in the last five minutes than I had for the entire summer, what was wrong with me?

She only shrugged, with a wisp of a shamefaced grin clinging to her lips. "They are silly, I suppose," she admitted. "Not very educational. But I like them anyway. They let me escape."

Interesting choice of words. I squinted, and she flushed. Escape from what?

I didn't ask, though I was tempted. That was a question about the world out there, and that world didn't belong here at our table.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you," she added softly, and slid her chair back. "Time for a new book."

Hadn't she read the entire selection by now? Still silent, I watched her leave the café with the book clasped to her chest. Hers was a graceful walk, though timid and small in step. It was no wonder I never saw or heard her approach, compared to the way most of my executives strode about the building.

"Pitiful," I muttered under my breath, just to reassure myself. I dove back into my crossword.

- - - - - -

It was another month before we spoke again, save her one-sided greetings and farewells. Outside the weather was starting to get cool and brisk, in the evening, and the few trees one could see from the café window had gone scarlet. Autumn is a false calm in the retail world, a fleeting dip in activity before the frantic Christmas season. The gaming industry and my company were particularly sensitive to the upcoming explosion, given the young target market, so I was determined to milk every second of the temporary lull.

The café was quieter than usual that Sunday, thankfully, I'm sure most people were out enjoying the crisp weather before winter closed in. It was just myself and Coffee girl, and a few other silently reading patrons, the atmosphere thoroughly peaceful.

The peace shattered at the shrill ring, and my head jerked up. So did everyone else's. Coffee girl almost jumped out of her chair, looking apopletic with embarrassment, and dove into her purse.

"It's the etiquette to turn those off in a place like this," I pointed out, a little smugly. I never forgot to turn _my_ phone off.

"I know," she whispered, mortified. "S-sorry, I just got it, I forgot…" Red as the trees outside, she hunched over in her chair and pressed the Talk button. "Moshi-moshi? Oh, hi. Listen, I really can't talk right now."

She directed a furtive glance at me when she said that, which was when I realized I was openly staring at her as she spoke. Good grief, what was wrong with me? I hated it when people stared at me, especially when I was on the phone.

Disconcerted, I dropped my eyes back to the crossword, attempting to focus on it but miserably failing. I couldn't help straining my ears to catch her whispered conversation, though why I was so curious I didn't know. I'm good at reading body language, thanks to business negotiation, and everything about her posture screamed discomfort. Whoever it was, she didn't want to be talking to them.

"Because I'm busy, that's why," she retorted, one hand still clutching her interrupted novel.

An decidedly male voice blathered loudly from the earpiece, though I couldn't distinguish individual words. She almost had to hold the phone away from her ear.

"Concert? Friday? Okay, fine, count me in."

Boyfriend? The thought of it made me feel a little strange inside, and I wasn't sure why. Coffee girl couldn't have a boyfriend, could she?

"Okay," she repeated, sounding a little exasperated. "I'm looking forward to it. See you then. Bye." At last she hung up, this time taking care to turn her phone off completely. "I really am sorry," she apologized once more. "I keep forgetting that I even have one, my brother just got it for me a couple weeks ago."

"Birthday?" I muttered, more distracted by the identity of her caller now than the actual phone call. Why was I tempted to ask if it was her boyfriend?

She was shaking her head. "No, just… because. He says it's not safe for a girl to be without a mobile phone."

Well, her brother sounded like a sensible person at least. "He's probably right."

"I guess." She smiled in a resigned way. "He gets too protective sometimes. I think he got it so he can check in on me every day."

I thought of my own obsessive paranoia when it came to my brother's safety, and smiled grimly.

"You're lucky to have a brother that cares so much."

"I suppose." A shadow flitted across her expression as she stuffed the offending phone back into her purse. Then she opened her book, signaling an end to the conversation.

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters

I spent two years posting for CCS before the first chapter of any of my stories (it turned out to be Wildflower) got seventeen reviews. And then this piece of fluff went and matched that without breaking a sweat. Clearly I've been in the wrong fandom.

There are a lot more Seto/Ser fans out there than I previously suspected. I'm so glad you like the story!

Given my plot setup, these chapters are a little shorter than my usual fare. All right, a _lot _shorter. Especially now, though I hope they'll get longer as the story develops. This is not (strangely enough considering it's me) a highly dramatic, action-oriented story. So please don't hold any expectations in that area, you'll be disappointed.

What this story _does _have is a lot of personal statements on business, capitalism, government etc… Not that this should shock any of my veteran readers, but since it's a new fandom I figure it's fair to warn you. The deal is: it's a free planet and you're welcome to disagree with me, and encouraged to say so in your reviews. I only ask that you phrase your counterargument in a logical and thoughtful manner.


	3. interest

The most unusual thing happened that Friday evening, when I was up to my elbows in technical diagrams at the office. I wondered what Coffee girl was doing.

'**interest'**

"Konichiwa," she said softly, sliding into the seat opposite mine on Sunday afternoon. I'd known it the moment she set foot in the café, but had kept my eyes on my paper all the same. When I did look up, she was already thumbing through the pages to find where she'd left off and not paying any attention to me.

"How was the concert?"

Her chin snapped up and she stared at me blankly, no doubt as shocked as I was. I never meant to say that aloud. But I'm always in control of my facial expressions and kept my gaze cool and even, unblinking. It was only idle curiosity, I told myself, there was no harm in asking. Normal people called it friendly.

She was still staring at me.

"On the phone last week," I reminded her. "Someone called you…" Your boyfriend? Or someone else?

Understanding filtered into her eyes and she nodded. "Oh, right. Um- it was fine. Just some local band that my brother likes, at a club. We had fun, I guess." She shrugged and focused on her book again, obviously not inclined to discuss it further. I withdrew to the Journal.

So, not a boyfriend. At least not that one.

- - - - - - -

The cold set in for good, and by mid-November the pace of retail purchases had begun to accelerate. Christmas was bearing down on my company, and the mere thought of it triggered a small groan as I slumped into my regular seat. It was the most frantic financial quarter of the year, the annual leap in revenue. But it was also a headache for everyone involved, salesclerk to me, and I arrived at the bookshop now with an audible sigh of relief. For Coffee girl, winter meant flushed cheeks and a red nose, gloves tugged off with her teeth and a contented sigh after the first sip of her steaming drink. There were no more calls, she remembered to turn it off now. For two hours the world shrank to just us, sipping and reading in silence. I loved it and it was clear she did too, but 5:40 would still come with a wistful sigh and reluctant departure. And I asked no more questions, because that world out there didn't belong at our table. She'd made that much clear earlier. And who was I, anyway, to pry into Coffee girl's life? She's one of the few to grant me any privacy at all.

So continued our comfortable routine, until the last Sunday of November, when she dropped into the chair opposite mine. I looked up, in preparation to nod a greeting, but hesitated at the sight of her blank eyes. Her usual enthusiasm was nowhere to be seen, and ditto for the book in her hands.

"Where's your book?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"It's gone," she answered, a little numbly. "There was only one copy on the shelf and it isn't anywhere; someone must have bought it last week."

She looked so lost, and I smothered a derisive snort. "This is probably why most people buy the books before they read them."

Coffee girl flushed a little. "I know I should, and I'd love to. But I just don't have the money to buy all the books that I read, I can only afford a few every year."

That almost embarrassed me. God knows I've earned every penny of it, but I've been surrounded by wealth for so much of my life I'd forgotten the financial limitations of most teenagers. And going by the cheap-brand coat she hung on her chair, she was worse off than most.

She said or did nothing while these thoughts ran through my head, sitting motionless and looking pitiful.

"Are you going to get another one?" I prompted, when the silence dragged on for several seconds.

She shook her head. "I can't start a new book while I'm in the middle of another one. I won't be able to concentrate." Obviously not a multi-tasker. She'd never last long in the business world. "Besides, I'm sure they'll restock soon. It will be here next week." She smiled wanly, unsure what to do with her hands now that she had no reading material. I exhaled impatiently.

"Well I can't concentrate if you're fidgeting like that. Do you want something to read?"

I nodded to my papers – _my _papers – spread all over the table and she eyed them doubtfully.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to understand any of it."

"Never know until you try." I slid The Economist closer to her side of the table and retreated into the Times, not allowing her another chance to demur. After a few seconds, I heard the faint rustle of glossy pages.

Well it was better than just letting her sit there.

We read in silence for an hour, with only the occasional whisper of a page turned or a soft "hmm" to mark her presence. When I'd finished a particularly thorough article on international labor laws, I looked up to find her frowning at the magazine.

"What is it?"

She jumped at the sound of my voice, and of all things, blushed. "It's nothing," she denied hastily.

"Disagree with something?" I scanned the inverted headline; she'd picked something on interest rates to read and that was a touchy subject.

"Well, no…"

"Then what?"

The blush deepened. "You'll think I'm stupid."

"Maybe."

She looked a little surprised at the candid reply, but I didn't bother to tell her I consider most of my fellow humans to be stupid. Coffee girl wasn't running any risk of standing out.

"This writer is talking about interest rates," she finally admitted. "And he seems to think Japan's interest rate is too high, and it's slowing down our economy."

He was probably right. "Yeah?"

"I hear people talking about interest rates all the time, on the news and so on, but…" Her voice dropped several notches and I had to lean in close to hear. "But I don't know what it means. I read this whole article twice and I still don't understand what an interest rate _is_."

She looked so mortified that I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. She cringed when she saw me do that.

"You think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"No," I replied honestly, "you're uninformed. There's a difference. You want to know?"

"Yes, please."

"Interest rate is just another word for price," I said practically. "Except instead of buying a cup of coffee, you're buying a loan. Borrowing money, maybe from a bank. If they lend you any, they'll want it back with a little extra."

"Interest," she supplied, before I could.

"Right. The rate is just how much that extra is, like 5 percent of the amount you borrowed."

"I see!" Her eyes shone and I felt slightly disconcerted, unused to such looks from the few females I know. From anyone I know, actually. She was already re-examining the article by the time I caught my breath. "But why is a high rate so very bad for the economy?"

"Ah, people borrow money to build homes and start businesses, etc. If the rate's too high then people won't borrow, and Japan has less development."

"Oh, that makes sense. But…" Another frown tugged at her lips. "Why is the rate too high, then?"

We were getting into an area where I held rather strong opinions, now, and I eyed her warily. Was that a very stupid question or a very perceptive one?

"The lenders are the coffee sellers," I reminded her. "They want the price, or the rate, to be high."

She shook her head, eyes troubled. "No, that's not what I meant. Why is the rate 'too' high? If coffee is too expensive then people won't buy it, and the shop has to lower the price, right? In fact -" She darted a glance at the café counter and cocked her head quizzically. "- why is it 'the rate'? Why can't every lender just set their own price like every coffee shop sets theirs? How can Japan have just one price?"

Astonishing. Coffee girl just figured out what most politicians can't grasp in a lifetime.

"Good questions," I told her. "I don't understand it either. But for some reason the government feels like it has to set one interest rate for the entire country. The board sets a rate depending on whether they want to slow down the economy or speed it up."

"That's strange."

"I know. But that's the way it is."

"Wow." She looked amazed, by what I assumed was the stupidity of our government. But she was leafing through the magazine and shaking her head. "This stuff isn't so hard to understand after all. It's rather interesting."

I wasn't sure what to say that, so I just grunted. She giggled.

"What?"

"I almost didn't notice when I said that. 'Interest'ing. Get it?"

I stared at her blankly, which only seemed to tickle her more. _Interest_ing indeed. The sheer stupidity of it was laughable in of itself, and her sparkling eyes were too much resist. I smiled.

"So you can," she teased. "I wasn't sure."

I finally became aware of myself, right then, and momentarily froze. What was I _do_ing? Sharing my table and now my magazine with some clueless girl, wasting my time explaining its articles to her, smiling at her stupid pun? This isn't me, didn't I come here for solitude?

Get the hell away from my table, Coffee girl, is what I opened my mouth to say.

"Orca," is what she said before I could.

"What?"

"Number five down, four letters, whale hunter," she read, pointing to my unfinished crossword. "It's orca."

Let's see, 'o' would go into 'body of water' with… lagoon, yes. And eight across, with the 'c', was 'opposite of speech'. Hmm, action.

My pen was already moving as my mind raced ahead, scribbling in the answers. "That's right. How did you know?"

"I like to watch Discovery channel." She smiled bashfully. "I'm not much good at puzzles, but I like English. Number ten across, four letter road, that's la -"

"Sh." I held up a finger for silence and she shut up promptly, properly contrite. "It just so happens that I haven't really started on the crossword yet, I _can _get the answers on my own."

"I know," she mumbled. "Sorry."

"Thank you." I glared haughtily and began to fill in the holes, skipping those I couldn't answer immediately to return to later. She retreated to The Economist as I worked, browsing its pages in a leisurely way with the occasional frown or raise of eyebrows. Greenspan only knew if she understood anything she was reading, but I wasn't about to ask again. This was my retreat, damn it, this was my time away from the world. I never wanted to share it with her in the first place and I didn't want it now. All I wanted was to be left alone.

And nineteen across. I really, truly needed that because it was ten letters long and spanned most of the puzzle. It was one of those vapid entertainment clues that I can never solve because I've got better things to think about than movie trivia.

"White house," I muttered, and she looked up.

"What?"

"White house' classic movie," I read, "ten letters. Got any ideas?"

"Hmm." She tapped her chin, looking thoughtful, then brightened. "_Casablanca_. It means 'white house' in Spanish. Does it fit?"

I checked. "Yes." In a lower pitch, I added a thank you. She smiled.

"I'm sure you would have gotten it eventually."

"Doubt it. Never heard of it."

"You mean you've never seen _Casablanca?_" She stared at me, aghast as if I'd just admitted to being raised by a pack of wolves. "Everyone in the world has seen that movie."

"Well, not me."

"Oh." She clucked her tongue sympathetically, the girl that couldn't afford to buy her own books. "Well, rent it some time when you've got the chance. You might like it."

I resisted the impulse to tell Coffee girl that this right here was my only free time in the entire week, and that I'd much rather spend it doing this than watching some stupid movie.

I finished off the crossword, with a little more assistance on her part, and by the time I was done she was checking her watch.

"Time to go." And even though she hadn't so much as opened a book, the words had a note of regret to them. "Have a good evening." She made to return the magazine to the table and I intercepted it with one hand, before I'd consciously decided to move.

"Keep it," I offered. "I'm done with it."

"Oh no, I couldn't -"

"Keep it. A thank you for the _Casablanca_ clue."

I'm told that I can be difficult to argue with, that my eyes can get very intimidating. Apparently it's true even when I'm trying to be nice, because she surrendered meekly.

"Okay. Arigatou." She bowed her head slightly and stood, snagging her coat and purse. With another brief but warm smile in my direction, she turned and left the café.

Something was beginning to feel very strange about this.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters

I remember, in my senior year of college, getting into a fight with my classmates over the federal interest rate. They were convinced the financial world would dissolve into chaos if the board didn't set one standard rate, never mind that human civilization has been lending money for centuries before Greenspan was born. I admit I don't know all the ins and outs of Japanese bureaucracy, but most of the world takes its financial cues from America and I'll assume Tokyo is no different. An interest rate is a price, therefore rate setting equals price setting. And price setting equals communism. Why is this so hard to understand?


	4. development

Thinking about what happened between Coffee girl and myself had me breaking out in the occasional cold sweat that week. Something unexplainable was going on, and I had the sneaking suspicion that it was already too late to stop whatever it was. First I had shared my table with her out of necessity. Later inclination, but that was all right because she never talked. She stuck to her business and I to mine, until some ill-begotten bastard out there had to go and buy her book. And before Coffee girl even had the chance to break her perfect record and ask me for something, I went and offered my own magazine. Discussed it with her, no less. None of this was what I wanted when I first began my weekly retreat, and the truly frightening part was that _I hadn't minded_. Something about Coffee girl was very calming, she was easy to talk to. I did not dread seeing her again come Sunday.

Hence the suspicion that it was too late to stop this.

'**development'**

Well, at least she had her book back. She smiled self-consciously when I looked up, my gaze moving automatically to the novel in her arms.

"I told you they'd have it by this week," she pointed out, and then, "konichiwa."

"Hn."

She dropped into her chair and began shedding various bits of winterwear, not seeing how my gaze lingered on her face. The cold turned her cheeks the color of strawberries, and it was kind of… cute.

Eyes closed in bliss, she took that hallowed first sip of her drink and uttered a little "hmm" of pleasure.

"What is that, anyway?" I muttered, ready to satisfy a six-month curiosity. "It's not coffee, is it?"

She shook her head. "Coffee is a little too strong for me, and it keeps me up. This is chai; it's sort of a spicy and creamy mixture." I raised an eyebrow and she grinned. "Er, it's not easy to explain, but it's really tasty. Would you like a sip?"

"No thanks."

Too strong indeed. I eyed my own pure black coffee and wondered how anyone could even taste something weaker.

"Your loss," she chirped, and picked up her book.

"Sure you don't want The Economist?" I offered, with a smirk.

She eyed me skeptically, just to make sure I wasn't serious, then glanced at the mess of magazines and newspapers under my elbows.

"No thanks," she echoed. "It was nice, but I think I'll stick to fantasy. It's more fun."

I shrugged. "Your loss."

She smiled, and I think I might have too, and then I prepared to dive back into the financial report. I was held back by a quick giggle.

"What?"

"Nothing. I showed that article to my brother, the one on interest rates, and I tried to explain it to him like you did for me. He said I gave him a headache. I guess I'm not as good a teacher as you are."

I've been called the champion of duelists and the sharpest CEO in the country, but no one's ever complimented me as a teacher. Something inside me fluttered strangely.

"Either that or your brother's not the brightest bulb," I mumbled, and she shrugged.

"I think he's very smart. He just spends most of his time pretending otherwise so no one will expect too much of him. He's strange like that."

"Hn."

When the dialogue had run its natural course she slipped back into her book, disinclined to any more conversation. I felt the same way, and I decided that Coffee girl and I must run on the same wavelength.

Or should it be Chai girl? Something about it felt strange, when I tried it out mentally, that just didn't fit. Besides, it was my name for her and I'd pick anything I liked. Here in our world she was Coffee girl, and no one else.

- - - - - - -

Paper snowflakes scattered across store windows and colored lights blinked around their edges. By the second Sunday of December the shopping season was in its final frantic stretch, and my company's production department could barely meet demand. Sales forecasting was a little off this year; I'd have to meet with that committee sometime and go over their formulas. But not now. Now I was relaxing in the only place that would allow me to relax, and Christ did I ever need it. Even Coffee girl noticed.

"Are you all right?" she ventured, somewhere in the middle of her two hours. "You look… tired."

"Am," I mumbled, not looking up from the Journal. "And stressed."

"Oh. It's the holidays, isn't it?" Rather surprised that she'd pinpointed it so quickly, I looked up. My brother could never understand why the season was so difficult for me. She smiled sympathetically. "It's a little tough for me too. The shops are packed, and everything is so expensive."

I considered telling her _my_ reasons for finding the season stressful, just to see the look on her face, then decided against it.

"And then there's Christmas Day itself -" She stopped herself short and my interest sharpened. _Let me escape_ were the words she'd used when I last saw that look, I remembered it clearly.

"What's wrong with 'Christmas Day itself'?"

"Nothing." She fidgeted and dropped her eyes. "Um, sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."

"Do I look bothered?" I replied coolly, lacing my hands together in my most executive pose. She cringed slightly under my direct stare, then shrugged.

"My parents are divorced, that's all. Both halves of the family want me to spend it with them."

Better to have two divorced parents than no parents at all, I almost said, but held back. The last thing I wanted was to bring up my story, and besides, the unhappy shadow in her eyes had me questioning the truth of it. My brother and I didn't make too much of Christmas, but at least there wasn't any doubt about who we'd spend it with.

"Never mind that," she sighed, and the shadow was gone. "Christmas is supposed to be a happy time, I don't want to mope. There's ice-skating and parties and eggnog, and I love all that. And of course the music." She nodded her head in the direction of the ceiling speakers, trickling out some choir song. "I just love Christmas carols, they make me feel so warm. I think it's better to enjoy yourself, rather than think about troublesome things. Don't you?"

She smiled at me expectantly, apparently not noticing my nonplussed stare. Ice-skating? I think I did that maybe once, back at the orphanage. Most of the time, if I recall correctly, was spent picking my brother up off the ice. Parties? Yeah, right.

But then, she had a point. No one got anywhere in life sitting around and feeling sorry for himself. I should know.

"Yeah," I finally muttered. "I do."

We retreated to our reading material, and at 5:40 she bid me farewell and left. On my way home sometime after that, I stopped at a convenience store and bought a quart of eggnog.

- - - - - - - -

"Konichiwa."

"Figure it out yet?"

"Figure what out?"

"Your family. Next week."

Coffee girl sighed and nodded. "Yes, I finally worked it out. I'll have Christmas dinner with my mom and stepdad, and spend Christmas eve with my brother. We're going to see the lights show in the park with all his friends; he's really excited about it."

Good plan. I nodded approvingly and she opened her book.

Wait a minute. She was splitting up her time between her mother and her _brother_? Where was the father? Why wasn't the brother at the Christmas dinner with her- their mother? The whole picture was skewed, but she was already wearing that drowsy contented smile that she always wore when reading and I couldn't bring myself to pry. This was her escape from the world just as much as it was mine, and I wasn't going to bring up what she didn't want to talk about.

We read.

Her chair scraped back at exactly 5:40, as always, but she didn't say good evening just yet. Her smile was timid.

"Um, next Sunday is the 24th."

I regarded her blankly.

"Christmas eve," she reminded me. "I'm going out with my brother and- I can't come read."

Oh.

And still I said nothing, not sure what to make of that. It had been a long time since I'd sat at this table alone.

"Anyway, that means I should give this to you now." She ducked below the table and came up again bearing a small cardboard carton, printed with candy canes and teddy bears and tied with a red ribbon. I looked at it like my brother would look at a computer chip schematic. "I don't have much money to spend on Christmas presents," she continued, apologetically, "so it's not much. But I hope you like them."

"You're giving me a Christmas present?" I finally managed, sounding like quite the idiot.

"Well, yeah." She smiled bashfully. "I mean, I do see you every week. And please don't look at me like that, it was no trouble at all. I like baking."

Numbly I watched her shrug into her coat and throw on her scarf, fluffing her long hair out from under its weight.

"So I'll see you in two weeks, then. Or no, wait, the next Sunday after that is New Year's Eve, and the bookshop will be closed. So I guess I'll see you… next year. Merry Christmas." She waved and left, and my eyes followed her as far out of the café as they could. Only once she'd disappeared beyond the bookshelves did my gaze drop back to the innocuous package sitting on the table.

She gave me a Christmas present. No one gives me a Christmas present, not ever. I could remember a time, many years ago, when my brother would scribble a badly drawn picture and present it proudly, at least one tooth missing from his childish grin. But he'd long since grown out of such things, and there was hardly any sense in him buying presents for me with my money. We didn't bother to exchange presents at all, actually, our holiday tradition was to just go shopping and I'd buy anything he pointed to. We didn't even get a Christmas tree.

A lavish one graced the lobby of my company, and I'd seen the employees exchange little wrapped gifts, but no one had ever offered me one. It had not occurred to me to mind. And then there was Coffee girl, who didn't even know me. Without demanding anything in return, not expecting anything at all, she'd simply given me a present and left. I didn't even say thank you.

After a full minute of staring at it I finally grasped one end of the ribbon and pulled the bow free, then unfolded the lid. She'd filled the carton with at least a dozen Christmas cookies, obviously hand-made and hand-decorated. Every one was a different shape. I selected one cut out to look like a Christmas tree, painted in green frosting and sprinkled with colored sugar, and bit into it.

It was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted.

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Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Sappy enough for you? This is what happens when you live abroad in a tropical country where no one even cares about Christmas, let alone has the stuff to make Christmas cookies. I really miss that.

Anyway, speaking of Christmas, come Tuesday I'm off to celebrate it in Hong Kong (squee!). Which is why I went ahead and posted 2 chapters at once, so as to be seasonal. Merry Christmas! I'll resume posting after the new year, so happy holidays to all.


	5. deprivation

'**deprivation'**

It should not, I told myself firmly that next Sunday, be any different. So I'd have the table all to myself, so what? That was all I wanted when I first started coming here, and after half a year I'd finally have my privacy back.

I made a point of spreading my papers over every inch of the small table, sipped my coffee, and began to read. And for a while I did well, browsing contentedly on the detailed year-end analyses and noting with some satisfaction the gaming industry's surge in market share. Then I found an article predicting next year's interest rate, and I glanced at my watch.

3:20. But she wasn't coming, she'd told me wouldn't. She, like most of the world, was out there celebrating. The table was my own today.

I fidgeted and pushed the Journal aside, then reached for the crossword. The clues didn't fall into place like they usually do, and after fifteen minutes I was still tapping my pen on the edge of a mostly blank puzzle. Too many vital clues were out of my reach, today, like 'wizardry schoolkids author' and 'rat pack singer'. Coffee girl would have known the answers.

3:40. I finished my lukewarm coffee and stared glumly at the empty seat opposite mine. Was she having fun with her stupid brother, who couldn't even figure out the concept of interest rates? Laughing and enjoying herself? What about me? Didn't she care that I was all alone?

I'm happiest alone, I reminded myself, I hate people. The bookstore was practically empty today, café quiet as a tax audit, this was my element. I should be thrilled.

3:50. And instead I was looking at my watch again, then looking back to the café entrance. It was, after all, just possible that her plans changed and she would sidle in at any moment, bundled up and pink with the cold, fantasy novel in hand.

It didn't happen. And at 4:00, I left.

It just wasn't the same without her, I admitted sulkily. In spite of her quiet nature or maybe just because of it, Coffee girl had become an inseparable part of my weekly ritual. Without her, in the most ridiculous of ironies, I could not concentrate on relaxing.

Somewhat bothered and a little depressed by this revelation, I returned to my home and found it empty. My brother had left a note to say that he'd gone to see the city Christmas lights show with that irritating super-friends crowd, having (correctly) guessed that I'd rather get a molar yanked than come along. Alone, I shuffled up the stairs and to my personal suite.

I should hate Coffee girl, I really should. To think that she'd corrupted my precious retreat like this, to the point where I got up and left two hours earlier than my usual exit. I was weak, somehow, I slipped up and let her do this to me. I hate being dependent on anyone. I should despise her.

Emptied and swept free of crumbs, the carton sat innocently on my desk and I propped my chin in one hand, staring at it. Sharing the cookies with my brother would have invited awkward questions about where they came from and so I hadn't, consuming every last morsel myself. Coffee girl was a good cook. And I didn't hate her.

I missed her.

- - - - - -

I suspect there's been reason to before, but that following week was the first time I've ever felt sorry for my employees. Anyone that had the misfortune of working on the executive floor suffered my short temper, unreasonable demands, and more than a few explosive outbursts. The mythical 'CEO tantrum' that gets people fired right and left isn't something any decent corporate leader would sink to, and it had never been my style. But I'll admit I came pretty close. I hadn't realized just how much I needed my weekly recharge time to keep sane.

Even my brother noticed, muttering things under his breath about overwork and a needed vacation. As if that was even a possibility with the financial year coming to a close, a stack of annual reports waiting to be reviewed on my desk, and tax preparation looming ahead. I didn't want a vacation. I just wanted my Sunday afternoon.

Just as she'd predicted, the bookshop was closed on the thirty-first. I glared hatefully at the black windows and explanatory sign on the door, as if I could somehow intimidate the store into opening up, then drove on. My brother was at a classmate's party to celebrate, and I once again had the house to myself. Determined to make at least some productive use of the evening, I hunched over my laptop and set to work on some new system specs.

Didn't get a thing done all night.

- - - - - -

The next week was even more miserable than the one before it, to the point where I was locking myself in my office just to avoid people. I didn't touch any of my waiting creative projects, but buried myself in menial paper-pushing tasks. They were all I had the concentration for. No thought began without wandering to my retreat and settling itself across from Coffee girl. And I wondered how I'd ever managed to survive before.

So it was with a low moan of contentment that I finally slid into my seat that next Sunday, papers and coffee at the ready. Happily I sunk into an article on APEC, literally able to feel the stress melting away by the minute. Three weeks was far too long to go without this; I prayed that no holiday would fall on Sunday again.

"Konichiwa," Coffee girl sighed, upon arrival. "I sure missed this place."

"Hn."

"How was your holiday?"

Wretched and despicable. "-s okay," I muttered. "You?"

"It was fine," she said brightly. "I had a lot of fun."

In the dueling arena a good player is an observant player, and even the tiniest slip in his opponent's expression can speak volumes. Her smile slipped, and I saw it.

"With your mother," I asked coolly, chin in hand, "or your brother?"

Flipping through the pages of her book, Coffee girl started visibly. "Both," she finally answered, a trifle defensively. Gamely she kept smiling, and fingered an antique silver locket dangling from around her neck. "My brother got me this for Christmas, he must have seen me staring at it in the mall. Not that he could really afford it, but he's generous like that."

She examined it fondly. It was a nice enough piece of jewelry, not too cheap but not very expensive either. I could probably get it with the spare cash in my pocket.

"How about you, did you get any really nice presents?"

I thought of the printed cookie box on my desk, still there even though I'd been telling myself for days I should toss it.

"Yeah."

"Good." She flashed me another smile before diving into her book, and I retreated to my papers.

So began the new year.

'**negotiation'**

In midwinter the weather stretched flat and gray across the days, the muted sunlight unable to hold out until five o'clock before it was sliding back into darkness. Retails in the stores slumped, overall sales dropped drastically across the market – except for pharmaceuticals, of course. Smiles disappeared with the holiday excitement, and people hardly looked up as they shuffled to work and then home again. These were the doldrums of the year, every day identical in bleak, featureless monotony.

These were the days I couldn't get out of the house fast enough, couldn't wait to get in front of my office computers and begin a fresh round. My employees suffered under the pall of low dark skies and cheerless crowds, but it was at times like this that my brain seemed to come alive. In the familiar thoughtlessness of routine my mind was free to roam and boy, did it. Computer programs invaded my dreams, I was designing circuit chips in the shower, ideas flowed from my head to my hand too fast to write. In my element, it was difficult to keep from humming as I strode about the office.

Freeflow of creativity or not, I made an effort to forget my work when I entered the bookshop. If nothing else, the holidays proved how much I need this recharge time and I had no wish to jeopardize all my progress. Even if I had to force myself to leave the office I still left, and in the café I resisted the impulse to scribble designs on a napkin. I kept myself in check, but the good mood stayed and I was even smiling at Coffee girl when she arrived.

Never did she fail to return the smile, and offer a polite greeting. But the smile was short-lived and her face seemed a little paler lately, which I chalked up to the depressing weather outside. For three weeks we read without speaking, but I couldn't help but notice the way she hugged her book to her chest at 5:40, her eyes more reluctant than ever to leave our sanctuary. And the more I noticed it, the harder it became to enjoy my own contentment. This must be what they called 'concern'.

"What is it?" I finally asked one Sunday, when I couldn't stand it any longer. Surprised, Coffee girl looked up from her book.

"What?"

"I don't know. But you're… not happy."

It was the only way I could figure out how to word my thoughts, awkward as it sounded. She ducked her head, looking abashed.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Not really. But I can see it."

For some reason, that provoked a light blush on her part. I replayed my words in my head and almost choked when I realized how that sounded – I didn't mean to sound _that _concerned. This is why I try not to talk to people.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, for what I wasn't sure. "I didn't mean to bother you. I've just been feeling a little down lately; you know, the winter blahs."

"That's all?"

"That's all," she affirmed, and I propped my chin in one hand.

"It's your family again, isn't it?"

"What?" This time her eyes flew open, stunned and unguarded. "What makes you say that?"

She was just too easy to read, and I shrugged. "You have the same look on your face whenever you talk about them. You had it just now."

"Oh." Coffee girl was starting to look a little uncomfortable at all this attention, and I huffed.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to -"

"Oh no, it's all right. It's just a little embarrassing, that's all. My school issued the grade reports for last semester a couple of weeks ago, and… mine slipped. A little."

She blushed and snuck an expectant look my way, looking for judgement. Undisturbed, I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. And?"

"_And_ that's bad! My literature score is okay but math and science fell by a whole bracket; my GPA has slipped by .05. It's awful."

"Numbers," I said dismissively. "Not like they mean anything. That defunct state school bureaucracy can't even hire teachers smarter than the students, what makes you think they're any judge of your intellect?"

"Er, well, um… I think my teachers are rather smart."

I snorted. I hadn't graduated more than a year ago, but already the memories of high school were a vague blur in my mind. Mind-numbingly dull classes, pointless homework, and overworked teachers. Already worth more than all my teachers' salaries combined, I considered it a useless exercise but endured it to set a good example for my little brother.

"Trust me, the grades don't matter. Mine weren't all that great, and I'm doing fine."

"But you're so smart!"

"Told you, they can't judge your intellect." As if I ever bothered to study for a literature test, or do the assigned readings. My time in the office was much more valuable, and I scraped through school doing as little work as possible. Coffee girl seemed piqued by my opinion, but then shook her head.

"Well, maybe so, but I still need a good score to get into the university next year. And I graduate in May, so I've only got one more chance to pull my grades up."

"You graduate in May?" I repeated, puzzled. The school year ended in February.

"Mm. I'm in the International Baccaleureate program, so we start in September, finish in May, like the western countries. Classes are half in Japanese, half in English." I grunted in acknowledgement, a little impressed in spite of myself. Coffee girl wasn't any flake, after all.

"Sounds tough."

"It is tough." Her shoulders slumped and she uttered a petite sigh. "A lot tougher than I thought."

"You signed up for it?"

"My mom signed me up for it."

Aha. "So it's really _her _that's not happy about the grades."

"Well I'm not happy either, but… no. She's not pleased. In fact, she's really angry about it."

Unpleasant memories rushed through my mind: his voice dark with the threat of punishment, an impatient cuff when I couldn't keep up with his demands. Hard, sharp blows.

"Are you all right?"

Unaware that I'd closed them, I opened my eyes and met her worried amber gaze. Exposed, I looked away and cleared my throat.

"What did she do?"

"She yelled a lot… and then she yelled some more. I'm lazy, and not taking my education seriously. Don't appreciate what she's done for me… you know."

"Yeah. I know."

"She's right to criticize," she added quickly. "My mother worked hard to get me into that school, it's a good opportunity and I should be grateful for it."

"You know she's wrong."

Coffee girl opened her mouth, looking as though she wanted to deny it, but could not bring herself to say the words. "I am trying hard," she insisted, softly, as if her mother might overhear. "I study so much. Math and science just don't come easily to me, I like reading and writing so much more." I was not in the least surprised. "But now she thinks that I'm spending too much time away from home. She doesn't want me to see my brother anymore."

There it was again, that bizarre schism that made her so miserable.

"Do you really spend that much time with him?"

"I guess. We live across town from one another, but every weekend I take the train up to his neighborhood and spend Saturday night at his place. I come home on Sunday. Mom never liked it, and now…" She shook her head, eyes despondent.

"What about your father?" I probed, taking my chance to answer my own questions. She shrugged lightly.

"Oh, he's pretty much welded to the couch no matter what, beer in hand. Half the time when I'm there he's not even conscious; I don't mind. I'm there to see my brother."

How could a man like that produce a daughter like this?

"But why doesn't your brother live with you and your mother?" I pressed. At that question Coffee girl visibly grimaced.

"I guess you'd have to ask my mother that. I think she assumed he would grow up to be just like Dad, and gave up on him. Onii-chan isn't anything like Tou-san, but she won't listen to me when I tell her that. She's… very set in her ways."

Nice lady. "And how does your brother feel about that?"

"He doesn't talk about it. He doesn't talk to her much, either."

"I'd imagine. So, what are you going to do?"

She winced. "I look forward to seeing him all week, we always have a lot of fun with his friends. I don't want to end that."

"And your mom?"

"I don't know. I can't just deliberately disobey her."

"I don't see why not."

She stared at me, round-eyed with astonishment. "What?"

"She can't stop you. You want to go, get on the train and go. If you're this close to graduation then she can just get used to you making your own decisions." Leading a company requires confidence and decisive action. I can't spend time worrying that some of my executives don't agree with me, and making unpopular choices was second nature by the age of fifteen. Judging by Coffee girl's horrified expression, it was not the same for her.

"She's my _mother_. I have to listen to her!"

"Says who?"

"Well, um, she does. And me. I live with her, she and my stepfather feed me. I can't just ignore what she says."

The more she spoke, the less I missed having a parent to answer to. What a suffocating existence. Blowing my bangs out of my eyes with an impatient puff, I considered the next step. Even a CEO can't order the world to fall in line with his demands, and when dictation isn't possible he moves on to negotiation.

"Maybe you can throw her a sweetener."

"A whatener?"

"Compromise. Tell her that you'll pull down a good score on the next big test if she lets you continue to visit him. Would that calm her down?"

She blinked and considered that. "There's a pre-calculus test on Friday. I really don't like that class… but I'll study extra hard every day." As she spoke a light of determination filtered into her eyes, and she straightened her shoulders. "If I get a high score on that then Mom will surely back off. Right?"

"You know her better than me," I reminded her, and she smiled weakly.

"That's true. Well, I hope so." She glanced at her watch and sighed in a resigned manner. "Oh, time to go. Wish me luck."

"Work hard," was what I said instead. I've never believed in luck.

She looked surprised, then grinned. After wriggling into her jacket, she turned to go and hesitated.

"Thank you for listening to me, I feel so much better now. I'm sorry that I interrupted your reading."

My heartbeat sped up at her grateful smile, for some reason, and I felt my face grow warm. "No problem," I muttered stiffly.

I didn't know why, but I didn't feel like I'd missed out on anything at all.

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters

APEC – Asian Pacific Economic Conference. The Australasian trading bloc community, designed to foster favorable trading conditions. My own view on that is: by any means possible. Yes, international trade is good, but I wish the planet didn't have to section itself off in these regional clubs. Can't we just… buy and sell freely?


	6. competition

'**competition'**

It's the driving force behind capitalism, that free will of the consumer that pushes a company to get better, think faster, provide more. It weeds out the weak, fosters the strong, and lets bookshop chains like this one stamp out the local mom-and-pop shops. And that's a good thing, because local mom-and-pop shops never let their customers read their books for free.

Without competition, a business would stagnate, wallowing in the complacency of captive customers and never improving its products. It is merciless, but competition is good for us all.

Or so I kept telling myself, as I read the article extolling that stupid dice game. Statistical surveys placed it somewhere around 6 percent market share of the gaming/entertainment industry and growing strong. When it hit 10 percent, as the article was confident it would, consumer demand would multiply exponentially. For the first time since I'd taken over my company, I was facing a direct threat on my segment.

Goddamn competition. I scowled at the paper and ground my teeth for a little while, and was therefore relieved when Coffee girl murmured a greeting. Ready for a sight more attractive than those statistics, I looked up. And found myself looking at not just her but the small gift bag in her arms, printed with tiny red hearts and overflowing with roses and a box of chocolates.

I don't know what my expression looked like, but she blushed like mad under my stare. My irritability took a turn for the worse.

"What's all that?"

"Um, flowers and chocolates," she answered shyly, sliding into her seat. "They're gifts. It's Valentine's Day tomorrow."

I'd never bothered to pay any attention to that ridiculous holiday until now. My eyes narrowed.

"And who gave you these gifts? Boyfriend?"

Coffee girl looked a little taken aback at my demanding tone, and she smiled uneasily. "No, I don't have a boyfriend. These are from my friends- well, they're really my brother's friends. They insist on giving me Valentine's Day presents and it's rather embarrassing."

I relaxed, slightly. I just _knew_ that Coffee girl couldn't have a boyfriend. Still, it seemed as though there were a few contenders for the position.

"Looks to me like they wouldn't mind being more than 'friends'."

Her blush deepened. "I guess. Oh, would you like one?" She slid the heart-shaped box out of its bag, and I thought I glimpsed a teddy bear before she set it all on the floor by her feet. Her smile was nothing but inviting as she levered off the lid and revealed rows of chocolates inside, but I hesitated. I didn't want to eat the gift some other man had given her. Why was this irritating me so much? "It's okay, really," she insisted, when I hadn't moved. "This is a celebration. I made a ninety-one on my pre-cal test!"

That startled me out of my grouchy mood. "Really?"

Coffee girl was sparkling. "Yes, I can't believe it, I've never done so well in that class. And it's all thanks to you."

I could feel my face heating up again and tried to distract myself by picking out a chocolate.

"You did all the work."

"Well, yes, but you had the idea. And talking with you made me feel so confident, for some reason, I can't remember ever speaking so firmly to my mother. When I got home I just walked right up to her and said exactly what you did, offering a compromise." She giggled. "I surprised myself as much as I did her, I think. Anyway, she agreed, and I spent every night doing practice problems. I guess it's true what they say, when you have a reason you work so much harder. That test grade will really help my overall score. _And _I can still visit my brother; everyone's happy. You're a genius."

People have been calling me that my entire life. But coming from Coffee girl it sounded so different.

"Just an idea."

"Well it was a good one," she declared firmly, obviously ready to credit me for everything. That's when I finally noticed she wasn't paying any attention to the spoils from her would-be suitors, all of her delight pinned to her miraculous test score. Even offering me that other boy's chocolates in celebration, and smugly I crunched an almond mouthful. Wouldn't he be jealous if he knew?

"That must have been good news for your brother."

Coffee girl's smile turned guilty, and she concentrated on selecting her own chocolate. "Um, actually I never told him about Mom's threat… it would have just upset him and ruined the weekend. He already thinks I don't spend enough time with him."

"You said you spend every weekend with him."

"I do. And sometimes more, when he and his friends get together for something fun he always calls me up. But Nii-chan is just so…" She paused, trying to find the right word. A stray memory popped into my mind at her words, and I remembered that autumn day he called her to go to a concert. "… protective. He likes to keep a close eye on me, he's convinced some guy out there is going to take advantage of me."

"So how does he like this?" I indicated the chocolates, and she wrinkled her nose.

"Not so much. They're both good friends of his, but he threatened to 'break their fingers and then stuff them up one another's noses' if they ever tried to touch me."

My estimation of the brother rose a notch. Obviously he knew trouble when he saw it. But I hadn't missed the way her smile faded as she spoke, losing that post-test glow. From what I remembered, she was less than thrilled about her brother's concert invitation and hadn't been inclined to talk about it very much.

"And how do you like all this… protectiveness?"

"It's sweet," she answered immediately. "I'm lucky to have a brother that cares so much. I only wish he didn't act like I was so helpless, sometimes."

"Ever think about telling him to back off?"

For one moment I saw a clear wistfulness in her eyes, but she blinked and it was gone, as if it had never been.

"Gosh, it's quarter to four," she blurted, upon glancing at her watch. "I took up enough of your time talking last week, I didn't mean to do it again. Sorry! I'm going to go find my book, eat as much as you like." Before I could even protest she'd pushed away from the table and fled the café, leaving me alone with a heart-shaped box.

A passerby eyed me curiously, and for the first time I wondered what the brother would think about this.

- - - - - - -

Whether she truly felt sorry about taking up so much of my time, or whether she was anxious to drop the subject, I'm not sure. In any case, Coffee girl didn't say a word for the rest of that Sunday or the one following it, sticking her nose into her book as soon as she sat down. I took her cue and stuck to my own reading material, but not without some nagging feeling of incompletion. We hadn't quite finished that conversation.

But I know how to mind my own business, and in traditional silence we read. As February drew to a close my lovely creative spurt faded, retreating before an onslaught of department reviews and the annual budget allocation. Informally, it meant promotions and layoffs, and the atmosphere at company headquarters had become unbearably tight. I wasn't sure which was worse: the suspicious glares of underlings when I passed them in the halls or the sycophantic pandering when they managed to corner me. I hate dealing with bureaucratic restructuring in the first place, but it was a necessary chore for the health of the company.

So, still a little moody and tense after a morning spent haggling with the head of Finance, I slumped into my chair and opened The Economist. The featured article this week was on health care, which I couldn't care less about but read anyway just to keep my mind off work. I browsed a shorter piece on the market's condition for retirement accounts, turned to the Journal and scanned a few uninteresting headlines, then started on the crossword. It wasn't until I'd filled in five or six clues that I felt like something was missing, and I checked my watch.

3:40. Usually she was here by now, but her arrival time was erratic and some days came later than others. I returned to the puzzle, skipping a few entertainment clues for her to solve once she'd arrived. Then it was back to the Journal for a closer look at the stock markets' index.

4:00. She'd never been this late before. Memories of my detestable Christmas Eve came back in force, and anxiously I drummed my fingertips on the surface of the table. I couldn't concentrate on my papers, not while wondering where she was and what was taking her so long. Maybe she'd finished her book last week and was picking out a new one.

4:10. When I couldn't sit still anymore I left the café and entered the bookshop proper, which I'd never ventured into beyond the periodicals shelf. It was bigger than I realized, and I was surprised to find that the store had a second level. After poking around the ground floor and quickly shying away from the children's section, I went upstairs. Here were the general fiction shelves, and then further back the Sci-Fi/Fantasy. But I didn't find her, though I checked every row until I reached the moribund Research and History shelves in the back corner. Not a soul to be seen there, and definitely no Coffee girl.

4:20. I returned to my empty table, now in a state of acute worry. I didn't know I could worry like this about someone that wasn't my brother. Anything could have happened to her over the course of a week – an accident that left her injured and in the hospital… or even dead. How would I ever know?

More than anything I hate helplessness, and the frustration and tension coiled inside me so tightly that I thought I might snap if touched.

4:30. She blew into the café, red-faced and breathing fast, and I almost jumped out of my seat.

"Where were you?" I demanded, before she could even open her mouth. She flinched.

"I-I'm sorry," she wheezed. "I was delayed."

"You're an hour late!" Coffee girl recoiled at my sharp tone and glanced self-consciously at the rest of the café.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, pointedly lowering her voice as she sank into her chair. "I came as fast as I could. I didn't think you were going to _yell_ at me."

Her soft words caught me like a splash of cold water and I subsided, abruptly guilty. Coffee girl was neither employee nor my brother, I had no right to shout. But still –

"I was worried," I muttered stiffly. "I thought something happened."

"Something did happen," she sighed. "We were shopping in the plaza when my brother was challenged to one of those silly duels."

_Silly duels?_

"Duel Monsters?" I suggested, a little wounded.

"Hai. Me, I just don't understand the appeal, but my brother loves it. And he can never back down from a challenge." She finished unwinding her scarf and must have seen the look on my face; she smiled apologetically. "Sorry, you probably like that game a lot, don't you?"

"You could say that." Without thinking I reached for my cherished deck of cards in my pocket and patted them reassuringly. Her words hurt, but I was still recovering from the anxiety of her absence. "Anyway, I don't understand why that made _you_ late."

"I wanted to go, but I couldn't leave until he was finished. He wouldn't let me, he says I'm his good luck charm when he duels."

"Wouldn't let you? What, does he have the only key to your handcuffs or something?"

"Hey," she snapped, "he's my brother. What do you want me to do, wish him luck and then walk away?"

"Seems fair."

"I couldn't do that!"

"Why not? You didn't want to stay, you just said so. He wanted you to stay, and why should he be the one that decides?"

"It's important to him, he loves playing that game."

"More than you love reading?"

At that she had no immediate retort, and opened and closed her mouth a few times before shaking her head in resignation. "You don't understand. When my brother wants me to do something, I have to do it. I owe him so much… I couldn't _read_ if it weren't for my brother. How can I tell him no when he's done so much for me?"

I stared, too surprised to answer. For all of his life I've been there for my little brother, watching out for him, taking care of him, and certain events forced me to go to great lengths for him, at times. Does he ever feel obligated to me, feel like he _owes_ me?

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Coffee girl huffed, and swiveled in her chair to stand. "Maybe I should just go."

"Wait." Reflexively I grabbed her arm and she looked up, startled. We had never touched, before this, the small table between us had always been an understood barrier. "I'm sorry. I do understand, I think. Just don't go." She hesitated, and I pressed the cause. "You want to get at least a little reading done today, don't you?"

"Well… yes."

She looked down at my hand, still on her arm, and I quickly relaxed my grip. I hadn't even thought about it when it happened, but now I could feel my face warming up again.

"So, your brother," I mumbled, half as distraction and half borne of a duelist's curiosity. "Did he win?"

"Of course."

She left to go collect her book, missing my muffled "hmph". I bet I could wipe the arena floor with her brother.

- - - - - - -

March swept in with sharp cold gusts and the occasional slushy snowfall, bringing some variety – if not much improvement – to the dry winter. Corporate restructuring and budget reallocation continued, and after a tedious week of statistical analysis I decided the Marketing department was overstaffed. We might be facing competition for the same segment but advertising gimmicks weren't going to change anyone's mind; the time had come to funnel more money into Research and Development and upgrade the product. That meant not only refurbishing the labs and hiring more techs, but sending a couple of my top engineers on an extended trip to Indonesia so they could review and improve the assembly process of our hardware suppliers.

Happily ignoring all of this as I browsed the latest headlines, I heard his voice before I saw him – everyone in the café did. Loud, obnoxious, and pestering someone to give him a phone number, he prompted me to look up just before Coffee girl scurried into the café with the would-be molester in tow. She looked desperate, and I reacted without thinking. In all of a second I was up and across the room, snagging his shirt in my grip before the oaf even knew I existed. Without breaking stride I pushed him right back out of the café, out from under the gawping stares of the other patrons. I don't like attracting attention, outside the dueling arena, and I pushed him clear once we'd reached the Self Help shelves and no one could see.

"Get out," I ordered, voice cold and clipped and not to be argued with. The cretin looked a little dazed at the swift attack and almost stumbled when I let him go, but collected enough of his wit to blather something about how much he'd make me regret that. In what he imagined to be an intimidating manner he pushed at my chest and I snatched his wrist, twisting and yanking hard.

The simple wrist lock buckled his knees in an instant and he gasped, unprepared for the pain. Men are always so surprised to learn how little muscle you really need to take control of a fight; quick thinking and absolute decisiveness are far more valuable weapons. A little hapkido doesn't hurt, either.

Swiveling his hand counter-clockwise, I doubled his agony and forced him to twist back, dropping the other fist that he'd raised. With casual strength I pressed his carpals in the direction of the floor, still worried that some security guard or manager would find us at any moment. If this interloper got me kicked out of my own retreat, I'd be most displeased.

"Get out," I repeated, "and don't come back."

I released his hand and gave a none-too-gentle push to his shoulder, just to put a little distance between us. I was alert and ready for another attack, but he only stumbled backward and glared the bitter defeat of my past duelist opponents. I stared him down and he backed away, rubbing his hand and muttering something about asshole boyfriends.

I chose to ignore that last part and checked on Coffee girl, standing a few paces away with her arms hugged to her waist and trembling.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I -"

"Come on," I interrupted roughly, grabbing her wrist and marching in the opposite direction of the café, allowing her no chance to protest or question me. Up the stairs and past the Fantasy shelves I dragged her, until we were in the very far back Research and History corner and safe from onlookers.

"You led him here," I growled, before she had a chance to open her mouth.

"What? I -"

"Some idiot jerk started hassling you and instead of telling him to get lost, you brought him here. You _knew_ that I would take care of it."

Coffee girl looked stunned at my sharp words, and shrank into herself. "I'm sorry, I was scared and -"

"I know. He knew it too, everything about you was screaming victim." The acute vulnerability in her eyes, shiny with unshed tears, only fueled my annoyance. What if I hadn't been here? What if he'd never let her make it to the bookshop? "This is why your brother treats you like you're helpless, because you _act _like it. You're used to him protecting you, and don't even try to fight back on your own. For Kami's sake, don't start crying about it. You know it's true."

The aforementioned tears slipped down her cheeks, and she sniffled. "I'm sorry," she said yet again. "I didn't know what else to do."

"I figured. So let's change that."

"What?"

I extended my arm in invitation. "Grab onto my wrist." Baffled, Coffee girl stared at me through watery eyes and I had to repeat myself. Finally, she wrapped a tentative hand around my wrist.

"Harder than that. Make it hurt."

It took some prompting, but I finally managed to get Coffee girl squeezing like her life depended on it.

"Now watch. If a man ever grabs hold of you like this, this is what you do. First, put your other hand on top of his." I demonstrated. "It helps you maintain control. Then bend your knees, that's really important. Open up your trapped hand – like this – so the thumb is a right angle from your fingers. After that, all you have to do is push up." I straightened my knees, pushing my hand to the ceiling, and levered free of her grip without effort. Tears forgotten, her eyes rounded with amazement.

"That was so easy!"

"Good. You try."

I sealed a death grip on her wrist, and with a good deal of fumbling she tried to remember my instructions.

"No, you have to bend your knees," I reminded her, when she tried to push up and could not pry me off. "You're not stronger than me, you'll never be stronger than any man who attacks you. Your strength is in your legs; once you bend your knees and push up from underneath me there's nothing I can do about it."

Obediently she bent her knees and then stood, and sure enough she freed herself.

"Wow! It worked!"

"Course it did. Try again, and go a little smoother." She repeated her actions, pouting with the effort of it, and after three or four tries she'd more or less mastered the rhythm. I didn't feel any need to hurry, and after she felt comfortable with the straight grab we moved on to the cross grab – right hand on right hand and one that necessitated slightly different countermoves. She shed her coat after a while, watching my every demonstration with rapt fascination and doing her best to copy me.

"It's all about your attitude," I lectured firmly. "You have to make them think that you're no one to mess with, before they ever even lay a hand on you. Scare them."

"Easy for you to say. You're tall."

"It helps," I acknowledged. "But my little brother is shorter than you and he knows how to glare someone down right quick. It's a matter of confidence. Believe that you're stronger and tougher than them, and they'll believe it too."

She dropped her eyes. "I'm not very strong or tough, though."

"Maybe you should start working on that. Or would you rather be the helpless girl your brother thinks you are?"

Coffee girl tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, and sighed.

"I couldn't believe it, when you said those things at first. I thought you were horrible." I suffered a brief pang of guilt, remembering my harsh words, and wondered if this was the point where I should apologize. Before I could, she spoke again. "But I think you're right; I am used to my brother looking out for me. It's no wonder he treats me like I'm a little girl. It just wasn't very easy to hear you say that." A genuine smile curved up her lips, in contrast to the tear tracks on her cheeks. "But you brought me up here and showed me all that stuff, and it made me feel really good. I guess you think that I can handle myself if I just learn how. My brother would never think that."

I grunted. "Well, I'm not your brother."

"Believe me, I know. And I thank you for it."

We'd never been like this, standing instead of sitting, no table between us but only inches of empty air. In the privacy of this remote corner I was suddenly aware of how alone we were, and took a hasty step back. Had I not come to this place to read?

"Um, you should practice this week," I muttered, eyes anywhere but her face. "Helps."

"I will," she promised, softly, and I wondered if she didn't sound a little uncomfortable herself. I didn't look. I only jammed my hands into my coat pockets and strode back to the stairway, leaving her behind to pick out her book.

It was starting to change.

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disclaimer: I do not own these characters

And yeah, that's about all the combat you'll see in this story. It is a bookshop, after all. Couldn't resist a little trademark self-defense lesson, though. Kaiba's just good at that stuff, though it beats me where he picked it up.


	7. momentum

'**momentum'**

Well it wasn't fun, but at least it was over. The last of the layoffs completed, everyone at the company could breathe a sigh of relief and get back to actual work. This included me, and for the rest of March I buried myself in circuitry design. The lab techs and I were trying to trim the size of the portable duel disks and lighten the weight, to enhance user comfort, but until we received word from the engineers overseas then it was purely academic work. Grateful to be finished with all that bureaucratic management at last, I didn't mind in the least. At least this was productive.

Coffee girl was being productive too, or at least she assured me that she really was practicing her wrist lock releases during the week. At school, with her friends, who all thought my self-defense moves were just "super". When I asked if she'd showed them off to her brother, she got a little evasive.

"He'd want to know where I learned it," she said.

Yeah? So?

"So, I don't feel like telling him."

That clipped comment before she dove back into her book left me feeling a little strange. She didn't want to tell him about _me_, which meant there was something to tell. Was there? Technically, we hadn't done anything but share a table for half a year. I told myself that but the part of me that never settles for less than the truth knew something more was going on, and I didn't know whether I wanted to kill it or –

I didn't know what. But when Sunday came nothing could keep me from that table. And nothing could keep her away either, and we read. At least there were no more trips to the solitude of the bookshelves, here in the public café we were comfortably distant. Comfortable, I decided, is all we needed to be.

- - - - - -

Bad weather turned to worse, and the first Sunday in April arrived with dark gray clouds and an ominous chilly breeze. At midday it began to rain heavy cold sheets of water, and then the storm turned really nasty and started spitting hail. The sensible people of this world had all run home to their blankets and fireplaces, and here in the bookshop I was practically alone. Sipping my hot coffee and browsing industry headlines, the weather wasn't something I gave two thoughts for.

Until Coffee girl shuffled into the café, leaving a trail of water behind her wherever she walked. Her jeans were soaked, dark and dripping, the coat only slightly better off and her hair hanging in long wet ropes. She sniffled and grinned as she dropped into her chair.

"Konichiwa. Pretty awful out there, isn't it?"

"I'd say so. Ever hear of an umbrella?"

Her smile turned rueful. "Well I had one when the day started. I knew it was going to rain, but I didn't know it would hail. The ice pretty much finished it off on my way here. But it's all right, my coat kept me dry from the waist up and they say that's the most important." She enjoyed a loving sip of her chai drink, eyes closed in pleasure. "And this will warm me up quick enough."

"You shouldn't have come."

"And miss my Sunday afternoon?" she reproved, in mock horror. "Besides, you would have worried."

A rerun flash of guilt went through me when I remembered my behavior, that day a month ago. "Don't get sick because of me."

"I won't. If I did, then I'd have to miss next week." She directed a pert smile my way and I managed half of one in response. We retreated into our reading, and the table was quiet.

But the rain wasn't. I hadn't bothered to notice before, but now I could hear it beating against the café windows in ceaseless monotony. Was it going to rain all night?

Coffee girl didn't seem too concerned about it, wrapped up in her story like always, but now and then I heard her sniffle. Looking at her, in that dowdy sweatshirt and face half-hidden behind a bedraggled curtain of hair, I thought she resembled the pitiful stray creatures my brother occasionally brought home. I never could bring myself to punt them back out into the world.

I dragged my attention back to the crossword, but I couldn't tune out the rain. It was like I was standing out there in it, I could hear it so clearly, every drop cold and wet and hard. Her two hours complete, Coffee girl moved to stand.

"Wait." She paused and looked at me quizzically, and I spoke before I could tell myself to shut up. "How do you get home?"

She seemed surprised. "Well, I take the number fifteen bus going south, over the bridge-"

"Where's the bus stop?"

"About three blocks away." She saw me look at the rain-streaked window and was quick to continue. "Oh, please don't worry. There's lots of shop awnings and so on, and the bus stop bench is covered. I'll only get a little wet."

Only a little wet on top of how soaked she was at that moment. And then she'd still be wet and cold for the who-knew-how-long bus ride, and after that she would walk through the pelting rain from bus stop to her home.

"I'll take you home."

I think I shocked both of us with those words. Coffee girl's eyes popped open wide and frantically shook her head.

"Oh no, I couldn't- I couldn't make you -"

"You're not 'making me'. I offered."

"But your reading -"

"I leave about fifteen minutes after you do," I pointed out, oddly amused that she would have no way of knowing that. Coffee girl ducked her head meekly.

"I don't want to trouble you."

"If I didn't want to, I wouldn't have said anything. Now go on." I nodded my head in the direction of the stairs and stood, shuffling my papers and magazines into a stack. Coffee girl hesitated, then she too looked out the window and surrendered. Hugging her book to her chest, she scampered out of the café.

I waited by the front door of the shop, feeling strangely detached from my own body. This was stupid, not at all a good idea and I knew I'd regret it later. I knew it, but I was staring through the glass doors at that rain and I could not make her go out in it.

And to think I was relieved we hadn't gone back to the bookshelves. She returned and I opened the door; we left the bookshop together. Maybe she felt strange about it too, because neither of us were speaking as I led her around the corner and to the entrance of the parking garage next door. It was built for the companies on this block but free to the public on weekends, and I usually drove here so I could go straight on home after reading. A press of a button on the remote and my Lexus lit up with a chirp. I wasn't about to open the car door for her and she didn't seem to expect it, sidling into the passenger seat and fastening her seatbelt while I started the engine.

In silence I backed out of the space, then circled the garage until I'd reached the entrance.

"Which way?" I prompted, when she said nothing.

"Oh, um, right. It's highway thirty-one, going south."

I flipped on the windshield wipers and turned right. The streets were virtually empty, unsurprisingly, and in solitude I pulled up to a streetlight. This silence between us was so unlike our other silences in the bookshop, each of us comfortable with our respective reading material. Now we had nothing to look at but the glowing red blur outside, and it was awkward.

"Hey," she squeaked, startling me. "My seat – it's hot!"

She looked so surprised that I almost chuckled. "Seat warmers," I explained, pointing to the dashboard switch. I'd never flipped it before today. "You looked cold. Is it too hot?"

"Oh no," she denied quickly, expression awed. "It's fine. Very cozy. I've heard of something like that, but I've never met anyone that has them." Happily she snuggled into her seat and smiled. The light turned green.

I drove through the intersection and pulled onto the highway, the quiet purr of the engine accelerating as the car gained momentum. The interior of the car was quiet too, but I decided this silence wasn't necessarily awkward after all. Coffee girl and I were the same, neither of us felt the need to talk for talking's sake. Most of the world couldn't understand that, but we did and that's how we shared a table so well. In the quiet we were happy.

I glanced over my shoulder to change lanes, and then glanced again just for her. I'd never seen Coffee girl's profile before, as we always sat facing one another, and for a moment it was like I was seeing her face for the first time. The nose was snub and petite, her skin pale with winter, lips curved into a drowsy smile of content. Enjoying her warmed seat, no doubt. Those honey brown eyes were gazing dreamily out the rain-streaked window, totally unaware of my scrutiny, her mind probably on some fantasy novel. No flashy beauty, but I could see what those other boys saw. Coffee girl was soft and inviting.

Other than to give directions, she said little. At her prompting I exited the highway and drove a few blocks, turned left and entered a residential neighborhood. The homes were middle-class, all right, but a little nicer than I'd been expecting. If she couldn't afford to buy more than a few books every year, it wasn't for lack of money on her mother's part.

"This is fine," she announced softly, and I glided to a stop by the curb. "Are you sure of the way back?"

"I'm good with direction. Don't worry about it."

"Was it very out of your way?"

"It's not a problem."

"Because I really do feel bad -"

"Don't waste your time," I advised. "It was nothing."

She'd been busying herself with her seatbelt as we spoke, and fussing with her scarf, but paused once she'd grasped the handle.

"Well, it was still very kind of you." Her smile glowed against the dreary and soaked evening, that smile that was directed right at me.

"Thank you, Mr. Kaiba."

She opened the door, and was gone.

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters


	8. point

For days after the moment that name left her lips I drifted in a numb haze, interacting with the world around me but not really seeing or hearing it, my mind too busy replaying the alien words. She'd dropped them so simply, not even a lilt in her voice, as if it meant nothing at all that she knew.

She knew my name. Coffee girl knew exactly who I was, knew exactly who sat across from her in the bookshop every Sunday. And all this time I'd been flattering myself she knew as little about me as I did her, perhaps called me Coffee guy or Blue eyes in her private thoughts. Two anonymous souls sharing a table, no agendas, no politics. I thought she was separate from the rest of the world, I thought she was my escape.

Wishful thinking, looking back. I was stupid to think she didn't know who I was, most of the city knows me by sight. My picture shows up frequently in the local paper, and she did say her brother was a duelist. Anyone in that particular world would know me, so it was only logical. My reading material must have been a big clue, there couldn't be many twenty year-olds that immersed themselves in the Economist for pleasure. And the car, of course the car. How many men my age drove a Lexus, with thermal seats?

So what did it mean?

I wrestled with paranoia for most of the week, convinced it must mean something. Nobody who knows me can ever leave me alone, I've spent too much of my life fighting them all off to let myself relax now. She knew me, she shared my table, she must want _something_. Right? But after so many months she'd never asked me for a thing, beyond that chair at my table, demanded nothing but some quiet time. Gave _me_, the multimillionaire, a box of homemade Christmas cookies and expected nothing in return.

Coffee girl wasn't like all the others, I finally decided. For whatever reason, she didn't care about my wealth or my name and especially not my cards. Speaking those words had changed nothing.

Why was I so relieved when I came to that conclusion? Why did it matter so much, anyway, what Coffee girl thought about me, it wasn't anything that kept me up at night for anyone else. She wasn't that special. She wasn't that nice. Just a random girl in a café that shared two hours of her life with me every week.

I like her.

There, I admitted it.

'**point'**

But now that I had, I wasn't quite sure what to do about it. Should I act differently? Say something? Be, um, flirty? I didn't know how to do any of that and I fretted all weekend, but as it turned out, seeing Coffee girl's face on Sunday wasn't even an issue.

It was seeing my own.

Still standing at the periodicals shelf, I stared at my picture in the paper and debated whether to buy it. The short tease directing readers to the editorial page was enough to tell me it was going to be bad, and there was no point in subjecting myself to a lot of misinformed abuse. I'd heard it often enough before, and I didn't care what the newspaper thought about me.

Told myself that but I bought it anyway. I guess I'm a glutton for punishment. And it was every bit as spiteful and stupid as I knew it would be; when I'd finished I cursed myself for wasting both time and money. Determinedly I turned my attention to the more intelligent Wall Street Journal.

"Konichiwa," she greeted upon arrival.

"Hn."

"Is something wrong?" I looked up and met her concerned gaze, almost inclined to blush when I remembered I liked this girl. But my mood had soured and I didn't have the energy to do anything more than shrug.

"-m fine."

"Thank you again for last week. You really didn't have to."

"Don't mention it."

Taking my meaning literally, she opened her book and said nothing more. We read in our customary silence, and by the time I'd devoured the Journal and Economist front to back I was feeling better. I moved on to the crossword. Tapping my pen against an unsolved clue, I was startled into looking up again by her soft gasp.

"You're in the newspaper," she reported, awed. Too late I realized that my picture and the accompanying editorial had been left exposed, from underneath my messy spread of papers, and almost threw the Times on top of it.

"No I'm not," I lied, stupidly. Coffee girl looked properly confused.

"But that was your picture."

Of course she knew that was me, I had to remind myself she knew who I was.

"Well," I admitted, "yeah. But it's not a story, just someone talking about the company… and, um, me."

"Wow, that's exciting. Can I read it?"

I bit back the impulsive "No!" and cleared my throat. I couldn't say that, not to Coffee girl. And refusal was probably pointless, she was perfectly able to read the same paper anywhere else.

"Don't you want to read your book?"

"Well, I got to a good pausing point and just happened to see your picture on the table… it will only take a few minutes, right?"

"It's not very interesting."

"Less 'interest'ing than interest rates?" she kidded. I didn't move my hand from its place on the papers.

"Very."

"Oh, c'mon. It can't be that bad."

How little she knew. Her choice of words hit closer to my heart than I'd ever admit to anyone, and I crumbled. Without speaking I slid the editorial in her direction, and happily she began reading.

By the end of the first paragraph, a heartrending story about the single mother I'd just laid off and her struggles to pay the rent, her smile had fled. The writer went on to describe in detail her difficulty in buying new clothes for her children, how she'd had to cancel their spring vacation plans, and was dipping into her savings to make ends meet.

Neither was she alone in her plight, the editorial pointed out next paragraph, forty percent of her department had met a similar fate. I'd been busy, this spring, firing people left and right here in Japan while I invested more expenses in dirt-cheap Indonesia. Jobs were literally flying over the ocean, as I callously cut loose loyal employees in favor of the low cost workforce abroad. At a time when the nation's economy was none too steady on its feet, I'd made matters worse by depriving its citizens of work.

Meanwhile, the writer gleefully continued, I was exploiting a poverty-stricken country and its labor force for my own ends. Children who couldn't even read spent nine to ten hours working in my factories, assembling duel disks for pittance wage. Cheap manufacturing ensured substantial profits – profits that, given my recent downsizing spree, I was obviously not willing to share with anyone else.

She finished the damning indictment and lowered the paper, eyes round as coins.

"Oh."

"Yeah," I muttered. She was looking at me like she never had before, and I could have kicked myself. Why, why, why did I have to go and buy that stupid paper in the first place? I could have gotten it on the way out, I could have not gotten it at all. I didn't care what they said about me, I never had.

She was still staring at me.

"It's to be expected, really," I added. "Just some fallout from the annual layoffs last month, it's no big deal."

"It's horrible."

I shrugged. "I hear it all the time, I'm used to it."

"Is it true?"

The crucial question. I started to speak, then hesitated and blew my bangs out of my eyes. "Yes. And no. He's not lying, he just… picked out the right facts. He has this way that he wants to see me, and will see me, and he'll find any evidence he can to make it possible. It's wrong, though, everything about his argument is wrong. He's not lying but he's _wrong_."

The plaintive pitch in my voice shocked me, not to mention the many words that had just spilled out of my mouth. Coffee girl was watching me carefully.

"Are you sure you're used to it?"

"I am," I said quickly. "I just get so sick of it sometimes, and I wish that for once someone would _think_ before they throw around those overdone attacks. Doesn't it ever occur to them that there might be another side?"

Coffee girl's gaze flicked to my left and I chanced a look; one of the patrons at another table was staring at me. I must have been talking more loudly than I thought, now everyone in the café was in on it. And to think I came here for escape.

"Sorry," I mumbled, and dropped my eyes. "Um, I guess you want to get back to your book."

Coffee girl set the novel on the table, closed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Huh?"

She smiled that gentle smile again, gathering up the awful newspaper and scooting back her chair. "I think it will help. Let's go upstairs."

And such was my agitation that I actually followed her.

"Okay," I started, "yes. I fired that woman. And I'm sorry that she's a single mother, but I didn't do it just to be mean. I had a reason, she was in the Marketing department. You know what that is?"

Sitting on the floor with her knees hugged to her chest, leaning against the Research and History bookshelves, Coffee girl shook her head.

"They're the people that identify our target consumers and their specific demands. In theory they analyze the market and figure out how to expand the consumer base- get more people to buy our product," I added, when I saw her blank look. "But within the world of Duel Monsters, we've reached market saturation. There's nowhere to go. And why should I keep doling out paychecks to people who have nothing to do? I told the head of Marketing to lay off the lowest performing forty percent of his department, and that's what he did. She and her friends were probably playing solitaire all afternoon in their cubicles."

Coffee girl said nothing, watching me patiently, a cool contrast to my petulant pacing. It was ridiculous, of course, to bother defending myself against such tripe but now that I'd begun I just couldn't stop.

"And what's more, that was not downsizing. I might have fired half of Marketing but I also _hired_ more engineers and lab techs. Yes, I'm putting more money into the Indonesian suppliers, but that doesn't have anything to do with Marketing – I didn't send any jobs overseas. They're not even my factories, I don't own them. The company just buys their product."

Coffee girl looked surprised. "I didn't know that."

"Obviously the writer doesn't, either. It's international trade, that's all, buy and sell. Like what I told you about the trade deficit last fall. I'm buying hardware from a place like Indonesia because it's cheaper than anything I could get in Japan, and my company's better off for it. That's not evil, that's common sense. And my company's a part of this economy too; if it's good for us then we didn't make anything worse."

Coffee girl considered all this, and fidgeted. "But, isn't it wrong to make money off those children?"

"Ask the kids. They're the ones making money off me." She blinked, perplexed, and I dropped to my knees to face her directly. "That's the thing about business, nobody gets into it if they're not making a profit. Me, the workers – we're 'exploiting' each other, using each other to get what we want. If they weren't getting something out of it, then they wouldn't work."

My eyes fell upon the paper, next to her, and I growled unhappily. "I guess that's what bothers me the most: everybody's in this voluntarily. My suppliers, my employees, and the customers. If everybody in this city hates me so much, why don't they just stop buying my stuff and put me out of business? I don't make them fork over their money in the shops, I don't march them into my park at gunpoint. I don't do _anything_ but sell them what they want and I'm so sick of everybody attacking me for it. I just wish they'd leave me alone."

Those last words tumbled out of me in a rush, and once they'd been spoken I felt a curious relief. It was inexcusable, such pathetic whining, but god it felt good. Depleted, I slumped against the bookshelves next to her.

The far corner of the store was silent, for a few moments.

"Wow," she finally murmured. "I never thought about all that."

"Most don't."

"But you're right, you really don't deserve that. People aren't very fair; my brother has one of your duel disks but he says a lot of unkind things about you… he doesn't like you very much, you know."

I don't know why she had to add the 'you know' like that, was it such a given that people despised me?

"Well, thanks for listening, anyway. Sorry about interrupting your reading."

"Oh, please. Haven't you listened to my problems? Besides, I think you must feel a lot better now."

She was right. Was that why I bought the paper? Did some unconscious part of me hope it would come to this? Guess it wasn't such a terrible thing, after all, that she knew who I was. Because who else could I talk to?

"It was really interesting," she was saying, "hearing your side of all that happened. I think you should write that paper and tell them what you told me, you deserve a chance to make your case."

I snorted. "That implies they had a case to begin with; I won't dignify stupidity with a response. I told you I don't care."

"Yeah, I can see that," she answered lightly, hardly a trace of sarcasm in her very sarcastic reply. I scowled.

"Businessmen don't respond to media attacks, if we did we'd never get anything else done. Let the journalism majors fume, I've got a company to run. The only free time I have in the entire week is this right here."

"Really?"

"Yes. And I'm not about to give it up so I can write rebuttals to morons. Besides, you're enough."

"Me?"

"Mm. At least I know you understand."

"Oh… Well, I'm glad I could help."

Sitting next to each other like this, our hands were so close to touching. I don't know if she moved first or if I did, or perhaps we acted in a silent understanding that brought us together somewhere in between, but she slipped her hand into mine and I held it.

The far corner of the store was silent, again.

Coffee girl's hand was small, but warm. Her skin was soft, and felt good against my own. It was cozy, this act of holding hands, and comfortable. I couldn't even remember what it was I was so upset about earlier. How could such an insignificant action change a bad evening to good? Change everything?

Neither of us spoke for some time, content to enjoy the peace and quiet. I think I could have stayed there all night, but she shifted slightly and saw something troubling.

"Oh my god," she squeaked. "It's six o'clock!"

Hmm?

Our drowsy tranquility scattered like a deck of cards caught in the wind. Looking absolutely horrified, Coffee girl ripped her hand out of mine and dove for her purse. I blinked at the rapid and unexpected shift, then checked my own watch. Sure enough, it was 6:04; we'd been up here longer than I realized.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm late!"

"Late for what?"

I didn't get an answer. Holding the phone to her ear, she hit a fast pace out of our secluded corner and I had to hurry to catch up.

"Mom? It's me… there's this horrible traffic jam on the highway, the bus isn't going anywhere. I think I'm going to be a little late."

Following her down the stairs, I could hear a female voice reply but not distinguish individual words. Whatever she said, it made Coffee girl cringe.

"I'm not making it up, it isn't Nii-chan's fault! I'll be home soon, I swear, I'm on my way." A pause, when her feet hit the first floor. "I'm sorry. Yes, I know, I'm _sorry_. Can we talk about it when I get home? I'll see you in a few minutes, bye-bye."

She hung up and I snagged her by the elbow, just before she rounded the Self-Help shelves.

"Whoa, slow down. What was all that about?"

"Didn't you hear? I'm late, Mom expects me home by six-fifteen. She goes crazy when I don't get home on time!"

"Do you really have to lie about a traffic jam, though? Over a few minutes?"

"You don't know my mother," she said darkly, which was true.

"But it's just a bookshop."

"She doesn't know that," she retorted, then immediately winced, looking like she regretted saying that. Coffee girl wrested her arm out of my grip and took another step, only to find her way blocked when I circled around in front of her.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I really don't have time for this…"

"I'll give you a ride home. What was that about your brother, anyway, what does he have to do with it?" Coffee girl averted her eyes, which I took to mean that I was on to something. "Why would it be his fault?"

"Because I'm lying to her," she huffed. "I'm lying to them both. I told you I spend Saturday nights with my brother, and I come home on Sundays. But I come here in between – my brother thinks that I go straight home at three and my mom thinks that I leave Nii-chan at quarter to six."

I stared, incredulous. "You have to _lie?_ About coming to a _bookshop?_"

"Do you tell anyone?" she challenged. "When you walk out of your office every Sunday do you tell them where you're going? That you're dropping work to come read and drink a cup of coffee?"

She had me there. I'd walked out on executives, cut myself short in the middle of chip design, ignored all pleas from the R and D department – all for this place. Of course I couldn't tell them why. I hadn't exactly lied to my brother, since he had not directly asked, but I knew he assumed I was coming straight home from work when I rolled up for dinner.

"No," I admitted.

"Because they wouldn't understand. They wouldn't understand how important it is, why we drop everything else to get here. And if my brother and mother knew, they'd just fight over who I should be spending those hours with. They wouldn't care that this is my only time to myself all week."

She crossed her arms over her chest, in subconscious defense. Not that it was necessary.

"I know exactly how you feel."

I drove her home after that, and neither of us spoke. But her hand was in mine until the moment she left the car.

'**counterpoint'**

_Dear Sir,_

_In regards to your unkind editorial on Kaiba _

_Seto, I would like to point out a few things._

_First, that while the writer was correct in _

_stating_ _forty percent of that particular _

_department_ _had been terminated, he failed to _

_mention_ _that the company hired more _

_workers_ _at the same time. There was no_

'_downsizing' in any sense of the word. _

_Moreover, the writer is absolutely incorrect_

_in_ _declaring these lost jobs flew overseas. _

_The factories in Indonesia_ _have nothing to do _

_with_ _the office jobs eliminated here in Japan; _

_overseas_ _workers aren't replacing anyone. _

_The Kaiba corporation doesn't even own _

_those_ _factories, another point he neglected to _

_mention. It's true that the thought of poor _

_children_ _working on assembly lines is _

_distasteful, but please keep in mind that _

_these_ _children might be starving for the _

_money. Is it really our place, brought up in _

_comparative_ _luxury, to judge whether or not _

_they_ _should work? _

_When publicly condemning another, I feel _

_it's_ _only fair to state all the facts instead of_

_selecting_ _just those that support _

_preconceived_ _notions. My question to the _

_writer: what has Kaiba-san done to deserve_

_such_ _a scathing attack? He's done nothing_

_wrong, or illegal. All he has done is _

_provide_ _products that – given their _

_widespread_ _usage – are in great demand. Is _

_it_ _fair to keep him in business but despise _

_his_ _success? _

– _Anonymous_

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters

Sorry this chapter took so long; it was trickier to write than I thought. Primarily because I could go on for pages about this stuff, but such a lecture would bore you to tears and I knew I had to be concise. Your homework is to think about this chapter, decide for yourself whether I'm right or wrong, and then remember that the next time you hear a liberal open their big yap about Nike. Business is all about exploitation, and if you don't believe that then I'd better not ever see you buy _anything_.


	9. division

"Did you write this?" I demanded, the second she sat down at my table the next Sunday. The newspaper, folded back to show the Letters to the Editor section, was already on the table between us. She didn't even have to look to see what I was referring to.

"Yes," she admitted, meekly. "Do you mind?"

Mind? I stared at her with the same disbelief I'd first felt when my brother tossed the paper my way, having spotted our name on his way to the comics page. The letter, polite reproduction of everything I'd told her that day in the far corner, hit me like news of an unexpected jump in stock value. I almost fell out of my chair. And I knew that it had to be Coffee girl, just _had_ to be.

"No," I finally answered. "I don't mind. I was just surprised."

"Well, you said you weren't going to respond. But it seemed so unfair that nobody knew your side of it, so I just told them what you told me." A proud smile sneaked its way across her expression. "I can't believe they actually published it, I've never written a letter to a newspaper before. Oh, I hope you don't mind that I didn't sign my name. My brother would never understand."

I couldn't stop staring at her.

"You wrote this to defend me."

"Well, yeah. I guess."

"Nobody's ever done that before."

Coffee girl blinked, surprised. "Never?"

I shook my head. All his life I've looked out for my little brother, protecting him, but no one looks out for me. No one sticks up for me.

"Why not?"

"I guess… nobody thinks I need it." I could think of a few people who would laugh at the idea. And before I saw this letter, I would have agreed with them.

"Well, I don't think it's a question of 'needing' anything," Coffee girl declared firmly. "I just wanted to. That's all."

She directed her standard sweet smile across the table, astonishingly beautiful. I still wasn't sure if she understood what she'd done for me, if she _really _understood that those 229 words in the newspaper were more than anyone had ever done for me in my life. I wanted to tell her, again and again, but words failed me. I'm not wise in the way of gratitude.

"Thank you," was all I said, retracting the newpaper in question back to my side of the table.

"You're welcome."

She opened her book and peaceful silence descended to our table. We slipped back into our routine without so much as a hiccup, neither speaking nor needing to about editorials and holding hands. For two hours we engaged in the activity for which we came: reading. And at the end of the two hours there were no arguments or even words exchanged when I left the bookshop with her and gave her a ride home. Cherry blossoms and spring weather were everywhere around us, and it was good. Calm.

For that Sunday and the Sunday following it, anyway. It was the Sunday after that that changed everything yet again, the first Sunday of May.

That was the Sunday I tasted chai.

'**division'**

It was a day like any other. At 3:00 I arrived, bought my coffee and papers, and started reading. Coffee girl showed up around thirty minutes later, and after a brief exchange of greetings, opened her book.

We read.

Absorbed in a complex article predicting stock market activity, I vaguely noticed when she put her book down and left the table but didn't bother to look up. I finished the article, moved on to the crossword, and it wasn't until I hit 'popular boy band', five letters, that I realized how long she'd been gone.

Odd. She'd made trips to the bathroom before, but this time she'd been gone for more than thirty minutes. I frowned at the book she'd left behind, lasted maybe another three minutes, then stood and left the café. There was no sign of her anywhere on the first floor, and the bathroom was empty of people. Prompted by some nagging intuition, I ascended the stairs and made for our back corner.

I could hear her before I saw her, and so was not surprised to come around the shelves and find her crying softly, hugging her knees to her chest. Coffee girl did not look beautiful when she cried, her face was blotchy and eyes rimmed with red.

"So here you are." Startled, she looked up and blanched when she saw me, leaning casually against the end of the shelf. "I thought you'd gotten lost."

"Oh! I-I'm sorry." Hastily she wiped at her streaked cheeks, looking mortified. "I came up here so I wouldn't bother you."

"Disappearing bothered me. What happened?"

She looked down at her knees again. "Nobody wrote a nasty editorial about me or anything. Compared to your problems it's silly."

"But you're losing reading time. Must be pretty bad." I sauntered closer and dropped to the floor, facing her, arm resting on one drawn-up knee in a posture that said I was ready to sit here as long as I had to. "Again, what happened?"

Another pair of tears rolled down her face, and she sniffled. "I can't believe I'm such a wreck, it's never been like this before. I come here to forget, escape, but today the book wasn't enough. He took me by surprise, it was such a shock."

"Who did?"

"My brother. When we met yesterday it was obvious something was up, he couldn't stop grinning, but when I asked he said it was a secret. We met his friends for an outdoor concert and nothing unusual happened, but today he took me to a downtown residential block close to his college. And he led me inside a building and up the stairs, and opened the door, and I was so clueless, and next thing I knew we were standing inside an empty apartment. I asked him what it was and he said it was ours: the apartment he got for us to share when I graduate high school."

The story tumbled out of her in a rush and she swallowed another sob.

"Oh," was all I had to say. I could see what she meant about the surprise, but I was missing the tragic part. Before I could ask, she continued.

"He looked so happy, and excited, and proud. I knew he'd been putting in extra hours at his part-time job, saving money, but I never dreamed it was for something like this. And all I could do was stare like a complete idiot. I know he expected me to jump on him with a hug and say thank you a million times, but… I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Mom and I already talked about this months ago, when my college application was approved. The campus is right here in the city, there's no reason to move, and it'll be better for my grades if I just keep living at home. It's already been decided."

Something about the way she phrased that caught my attention. "Did you decide? Or your mother?"

Her eyes refused to meet mine. "She's right, it'll be much easier and cheaper. And without distractions, so I can concentrate on my studies."

"But do you _want _that?" I pressed, a little impatiently. "Because the way I see it, you're absolutely miserable."

"My mother is a good woman! She works hard for me, she -"

"Won't let you breathe without permission. She barely lets you talk to your own brother, you have to _lie _about a traffic jam when you're just a few minutes late. Do you _like_ living like that?"

"No!" she blurted, helplessly. "I hate it! I hate it and he knows it, he knows how unhappy I am. My brother got that apartment so I could get out, he thought he was saving me. He looked so hurt when I told him I had to think about it…" Her voice cracked mid-word with another sob and furiously she tried to get control of herself. Again she wiped at a few escaped tears.

"I don't understand. If you're that unhappy living with your mother, then what's to think about?"

"Don't you see? He's put me in an impossible position; now I have to choose. It's bad enough just trying to split Christmas between them, how can I tell one of them that I want to live with the other? No matter what, someone will get hurt."

Tears spent, she propped her chin on one knee and exhaled with a shudder. I braced my palms against the carpet and leaned back, taking in her pitiful appearance.

"Does your family have any idea what they put you through?"

She half-shrugged. "I don't think so, no."

No, of course they wouldn't. Too busy despising each other, scrabbling for influence over her as if she were a prize consumer niche, they wouldn't even bother to notice. Sitting here with her, I had the stray thought that I knew Coffee girl better than any of those who called her by some other name.

"So what about you?" I asked after a few moments of silence. "What do you want? Do you want to live with your brother?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "He's kinder than my mother. He won't spend the day breathing down my neck about my grades. And he loves to have fun. But…"

"But?"

"But he doesn't know how to leave me alone, any more than Mom does. He throws a fit if I wear a skirt that's too short, or lipstick too bright. He won't let me talk to boys. I'll still have a curfew, even if he doesn't call it that. I'll never have any quiet time to myself, not as long as he's in the mood to go out with his friends. I _always_ have to come."

She rolled a disgusted groan down her throat, burying her face in both hands. "Argh, listen to me. I'm terrible, I'm the world's most ungrateful sister! He went to so much trouble and all I can do is complain; after all he's done, now he's giving me a new place to live. How can I tell him no?"

She dropped forehead to knee, her long hair swishing forward to conceal her face like a curtain. Looking at the rows of books behind her, I wondered idly just what she'd meant when she said she couldn't read were it not for her brother.

"You know," I ventured, "I'm an older brother myself. And I've done a lot for my little brother, I've gone through hell like you wouldn't believe for his sake. It wasn't fun but I had to and so I did. And I know he's grateful, but if I ever thought he felt obligated to me – like he _had_ to do something for me because of what I've done for him – I wouldn't like it. That's not how it's supposed to work."

She'd turned her face up sometime while I spoke, watching me with puffy but now-dry eyes. "I'm sure your brother wouldn't like it either."

"You don't know what he did -"

"You're right. I don't. But he didn't do it so you could spend the rest of your life feeling guilty about it, and resenting every minute you're with him. He did it because he wants you to be happy. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about."

To that she said nothing, considering my words in silence. Finally a petite sigh escaped her lips. "Maybe you're right."

"I know I'm right."

"My brother wouldn't want me to feel this way, but he'll never understand that I do. He wouldn't even notice, he's not the type to notice things."

"You could talk to him."

"No, I couldn't. He's the same as my mother, they're both so quick to remind me of all the things they've done for me, everything that I owe them. And they're not doing it to make me feel guilty, I know, they're trying to outshine each other. They don't even notice how it makes me feel, always playing the rope in their stupid tug-of-war. I don't think they even bother to wonder what I want, not anymore."

She huffed, a spark of anger flashing across her miserable expression. "My mother made the decision that I should stay at home, she didn't care what I thought about it. My brother got that apartment first, asked me second. No, didn't even ask me. _Told_ me we'd be living there together. They can't stand each other but they're so alike, always making the decisions, always calling the shots, always telling me what to do. The only one in my life that doesn't tell me what to do is -"

Abruptly she cut herself short, and I leaned forward in curiosity.

"Who?"

"You," she whispered.

Though she might as well have shouted it. The word hit me like a blow to the chest, robbing my lungs of breath and effectively crippling any ability to speak. For so many months I'd allowed her to share my table and my reading time, unique in my world because she made no demands. I had never thought to wonder what she saw in me.

The irony was too rich for belief. I, multimillionaire and employer of hundreds, was the only one she knew that had never given her an order, never commanded anything of her. She had so little, was hardly more than a pawn in her own family, but asked me for nothing.

How did we ever find each other?

I had to have her, and so I did. I rocked forward and kissed her, and that's when I tasted chai. She was right, it was good. Sweet and creamy with just a little spice, warm and cozy as this bookshop in winter. She offered no resistance, opening her lips and allowing me in, uttering perhaps just a tiny muffled whimper at the swiftness of it. I kissed her like I do everything in life: thoroughly and well.

We were both breathing a little harder by the time I withdrew. Tears forgotten, she stared at me with round eyes and cheeks flushing a new pink under her blotchy skin. And I, the second male to surprise her that day, stared back and wondered what to say.

"Was that okay?"

She nodded, quickly.

"I am not your family."

She nodded again.

"So I won't tell you what to do. But I will ask you."

Still watching me in silent astonishment, she made no sound.

"Would you like to do that again?"

Once more, she nodded.

And so we did.

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters

I'd like to pause, at this absurdly romantic and sappy moment, to say just how amazed I am at the response this fic is getting and thank you all for your reviews. Especially those reviews for the 'economic' chapter last time around, you all made me so happy! Even if you disagree with my points, at least you all gave it thought. As an aspiring political writer, nothing could make me more proud. Sorry chapter nine took a little bit longer, but now that emotions have begun to fly the plot is getting trickier. Plus I had a vacation. With any luck, ten will be up before long – I suspect maybe three or four more chapters after that.

Madelina: Touche, you are right on both counts. Typing 'his or her' is such a pain, English should have a unisex pronoun. And can I help it if my boss is a total economic moron, whose idiotic understanding of free trade causes me to storm out of the office before I get myself fired and thus spawns the basic theme of chapter eight? (helpless shrug)

And Blu Lotus: Education is never free. At most it is merely state-sponsored, which means the government provides it, which means they collect taxes to fund it, which means someone, somewhere, pays. I'm not totally sure what that has to do with the argument, either, since starving children will still choose to work in the day rather than spend it reading books in a classroom. Can you blame them?


	10. indecision

We could both feel the difference when she sat down at our table the next Sunday; when I looked up she blushed. Her smile was shy but her eyes sparkled when they met mine, reliving our actions last week. It looked cute on her, but I hoped my expression wasn't half so gushy.

"Konichiwa."

"Konichiwa. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine!"

"And the family?"

I shouldn't have brought it up, at least not so soon. Her smile faded faster than a switched-off hologram, and she looked down.

"Um… not so good. My brother's still upset, and he spent all weekend pushing me about the apartment. It was awful. He just can't understand why this is so difficult for me."

"Your brother's a clod."

Coffee girl looked pained, though whether it was because I'd insulted him or she wanted to agree, I wasn't sure. "I don't mean to make him sound all that bad, really. It's just something he wants so much. He keeps talking about how much fun it will be and all the things we can do together."

Didn't he have anything else to think about?

"Sounds to me like your brother needs a girlfriend."

At that point she rolled her eyes in a derisive manner. "He's got a girlfriend. He just doesn't know it."

"He what?"

I arched my eyebrows and she smiled, albeit wanly. "I don't like to gossip, so I won't name names. But she's hopelessly in love with my brother and everyone knows it but him. I told you he's not good at noticing things. The silliest part is that he loves her too."

"Really?"

"Again, everyone knows it. But he won't ever admit it because he doesn't think she'd give him the time of day, and that's where it stands." She shrugged, lightly. "I don't think he'll understand she's his girl until they're literally standing at the altar."

Amused, I snorted. But at least her smile had come back, and she opened her book looking ready to read.

Wait a minute. Was Coffee girl _my_ girlfriend? What's the definition for that, anyway? She's a girl, yes, and we meet once a week. I didn't ask her to come, exactly, but I expect her to be here and threw an embarrassing tantrum the one day she wasn't. I shared my table with her. She shared her Valentine's chocolates with me. We held hands, we'd kissed.

"You don't…" I blurted without thinking, and she looked up. "Uh, read with any other men. Do you?"

She stared at me blankly. "What?"

"I mean, you read here with me. But, do you read with anyone else? Or… go behind bookshelves?"

I think I finally got my meaning across, and the puzzled lines in her forehead smoothed out. "Oh…" And she blushed again. "No, I don't."

"Good," I said rather shortly. "Because I don't want you to."

She raised her eyebrows at my tone, but she didn't seem offended. "Do you 'read' with any other girls?"

"Of course not."

"So, does that make us… exclusive?"

"Call it whatever you like," I answered, rather stiffly, and shrugged. "Just so long as we both know."

"Oh. Okay."

Unromantic, maybe, but at least I knew when _I_ had a girlfriend. We turned back to our respective reading material.

And before she left my car, we kissed. Many times.

'**indecision'**

"Konichiwa," she greeted next Sunday.

"Figure it out yet?"

She didn't have to ask what, and slid into her chair with a timid shake of the head. I stared incredulously.

"Still?"

"That's pretty much what my brother said, too."

"I don't blame him. I've put together tournaments in less time than you're taking."

Coffee girl cringed. "Please, you know how difficult this is for me. I can't choose between them."

"I think you're limiting yourself, looking at it like that. Your mother and brother don't have to be the only options."

"What?"

"If you don't want to choose between them then don't. Get your own place."

Puzzled amber eyes met my stare. "Get my own place? What do you mean?"

"I mean," I elaborated impatiently, "move – into – your – own – apartment."

"Live _alone_?"

"Yes!"

Coffee girl boggled at me. "But- I couldn't do that! I wouldn't even know how."

"And you complain that they spend too much time telling you what to do."

She blushed bright red at that, and occupied herself taking a sip of chai. "Well, it doesn't solve my problem," she declared afterwards. "I'd still have to tell them no, both of them."

"Seems fair, seeing as how they both make you so miserable."

"They don't! They just -"

"I know, you told me. But you also told me the reasons why you really don't want to live with either one, so don't. Why is this so unthinkable?"

"Because it just is, okay? I don't have the money to just pick up and get my own apartment if I feel like it, I didn't inherit a fortune like some people at this table. I don't even have an allowance. It's all I can do to afford this every week." She lifted her cup in mock salute. "Actually, I don't even know how I'm going to pay for college. I'm sure Mom won't pay if I choose to live with Onii-chan. An apartment of my own? Yeah, right."

"If you really want to, you'll find a way."

Coffee girl bit her lip, refusing to meet my eyes. "I don't want to talk about it anymore, let's just read."

"But -"

"No. I come here to forget about my problems, just like you. This is our escape, so I want to escape now. Okay?"

Determinedly she opened her book, ignoring me and my exaggerated huff. Of course I understood why she came here, but it couldn't go on like this. When she left the bookshop and went home she'd still have the same problems; she couldn't ignore that any more than I could ignore my company's restructuring needs.

I could solve everything, if I wanted to. I could pay Coffee girl's college tuition without putting a dent in my savings account, just so she could walk out of her mother's house and never have to go back. I could get her an apartment, anywhere she liked, I could get her a house if she really wanted it.

I could ask her to move in.

But no. The only one in my life who asked me for nothing, the last thing I wanted was to make her dependent on me. It was for the same reason I'd taken her upstairs and taught her those self-defense moves, instead of merely dealing with her molester. Next time she won't need me, next time she can save herself. If she'd only learn to speak up for herself then she could save herself from this.

Ask her to move in. Behind my papers, I grunted in amusement. Wouldn't that be interesting, introducing her to my brother?

_This is my girlfriend, Coffee girl. I met her in a bookshop and from now on she'll be living here, hope that's okay. You can just call her Coffee, if you want to._

I'm sure the look on his face would be priceless, but it just wasn't an option. Speaking of my brother, before turning my phone off I'd gotten a message that he was getting pizza with his project group tonight and therefore not coming home for dinner. There was, technically, no reason for me to go straight home.

**- - - - - -**

Once the thought had occurred to me, it stayed with me for the rest of our time in the café. At 5:40 she returned her book to its shelf and we left the shop, Coffee girl settling herself quietly into my passenger seat as usual. I turned right and drove through the first intersection, but when I saw the highway entrance ramp I steered away and pulled up to the curb. She shot me a startled look.

"What's wrong?"

"Eat dinner with me tonight."

"What?"

"I don't want to go home yet and I know you don't. So come on, let's get something to eat. Anywhere you want."

Coffee girl simply stared at me for a full five seconds before finally collecting her thoughts enough to shake her head.

"I can't- you know I can't. My mother expects me to be home in fifteen minutes."

"So call her up and tell her an excuse. You've done it before."

"That was an emergency, I _had_ to. I can't just call her and tell her I'm not coming home for dinner!"

"Why not?"

"Because I just can't! What would I say?"

"How about the truth? Would it be that bad?"

"She would explode," Coffee girl informed me, in no uncertain tone of voice. "Why are you asking me this when you know I can't?"

"Because it's a nice evening, damn it, and you're my girlfriend, and I want to eat dinner with you. Forget your mom for once and think about what you want. Do you want to go home, and eat her food, and listen to her moaning? Or do you want to have dinner with me?"

I pressed the button that lowered the windows, just to back up my words. The late May evening was indeed really nice, soft and warm with the western sky turning gold. It suited Coffee girl, and even though I'd started this conversation on a whim I suddenly wanted to share it with her very much. Dinner, on a restaurant patio somewhere, with the sunset light reflecting on her hair. It would be great, surely she knew that.

The unmistakable wistfulness in her eyes told me she did. But then she looked away, averting them.

"It's not just dinner, or Mom. I graduate next week, final exams are in two days. I have to study."

"Your grades are fine, we both know that. One hour for dinner won't fail you."

"Tell that to my mother."

"Enough about your mother already, tell her to take a running jump. We're talking about _you_."

"And _I'm_ saying that I just can't."

"Only because you won't stand up for yourself. It's no wonder they walk all over you like they do, you can't even get up the nerve to miss dinner. How the hell do you think you're ever going to choose where to live?"

"I don't know!"

"No surprise there. If you would just learn to think for yourself -"

"Stop!" she cried. "_Please._ Don't tell me what to do!"

I subsided. I wouldn't betray her, I wouldn't cross that line. She'd never done less for me. Defeated, I dropped my hands on the wheel and resisted the urge to bang my head against it.

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I just want you to do something you really wanted, for once." She hugged her arms to her chest and said nothing. "Or maybe you didn't want to."

"I did," she whispered, so softly I almost couldn't hear her over the traffic. "I do. But I just can't, not now. She'd never understand. Please take me home."

What choice did I have? With a sigh I pulled back into traffic and up on the highway. We completed the rest of the journey in awkward silence, the wind whisking through my open windows the only noise. I pulled up to the curb on her street, and she turned to get out.

My hand closed over her wrist, holding her back.

"Wha -"

"You're about to graduate," I acknowledged, "and that means nothing. You took some classes, regurgitated the material on tests, that's it. You'll have a degree on the wall, and my company hires people like that all the time. But the ones that get fired, the ones that can't hack it, are the ones that never learned to have a little confidence in themselves. They can't make decisions, can't think on their own, always have to be told what to do. Maybe they had families like yours, I don't know. Do you really want to live like that? Do you want to be one of those people I had to fire?"

Do you, Coffee girl?

I held her stare for an agonizingly long moment, waiting for her answer. None came.

She squirmed out of my grasp and then my car, leaving me with nothing but the memory of scared amber eyes.

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters

I am sooooo sorry that this chapter took so long to get up. Readers that leave 71 reviews for one chapter alone (Holy _crap_, that's a lot. You guys are awesome!) deserve better than that. Don't hate me when I say it only took three days to write; much of the hassle involved finding enough free time to actually sit down in front of the computer and get to it. Another writing project demanded my attention, and everyone's best friend Real Life has been more troublesome than usual.

I should have told you guys last chapter, and would have if I'd known this update would take so long, but things are about to get tricky. After living in Thailand for a year and a half, I've decided it's finally time to come home. (The statute of limitations expired. Haha, just kidding.) I move back to America in 3 weeks. And this means not just the logistics of packing and shipping, but also that I have only a handful of days to spend with people I might never see again. Writing time has been curtailed so I can spend my last days with friends having fun and taking photos, trying to preserve my happy memories of this place. Living in southern Thailand has been righteous fun, tsunamis and terrorists and all, but I know it's time to go.

Guess this means that I won't have CG finished by the end of March, shucks. I was hoping I'd make it in time to be eligible for the SxS fanfic contest, but there's always next time. Speaking of which, I hear they're anxious for more nominations. As an SxS writer, I'll do my part by encouraging all of you to run along and vote for your fave fic; all genres are welcome. We all know how ff net is about web links, so I'll just tell you to click on the homepage link in my bio. Click on User Info, then scroll down to the bottom and you'll see it listed with my Communities. Go on, go be democratic. Meanwhile, I'll see if I can't get chapter 11 up before my feet hit American soil.


	11. graduation

I was surly and anxious all that week. What Coffee girl and I had, Sunday evening, was what most normal couples would call a fight. It was our first, and now I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't even have anyone to ask. In a normal relationship, the boyfriend would probably call and apologize. Right? But I didn't know Coffee girl's phone number any more than I did her name, I couldn't call her.

I wasn't even sure if I should be apologizing. For what? I didn't say anything wrong, only the truth. If that was all it took to make her angry, then so be –

No. That worked on everyone else in my life, but not her. I didn't want Coffee girl to be angry at me, unhappy with me. I definitely didn't want her to stop seeing me. She should like me, that was important. _Really_ important. I'd never cared so much about what someone thought of me; not since that moment I felt my own soul being ripped from my body had I felt so vulnerable.

That's why I was surly. I was anxious because I didn't know what would happen come Sunday, what I was supposed to say or do – assuming she did actually come. This boyfriend stuff was tricky after all, and for once I had no tech manual to refer to. I'm not proud to admit that I almost chickened out by not going.

Almost. But nervous as I was, the thought of going another week without seeing her was worse. If nothing else, I had to be there – no matter what happened.

It turned out to be the last thing I'd have ever expected.

'**graduation'**

The first surprise came when I walked into the café and found her already there, fidgeting in her usual seat with legs crossed and no book in sight. The second was her appearance – not the usual jeans and cotton shirt but a dress, complete with heels and make-up. I barely had time to process these two oddities before she'd rocketed out of her chair and crossed the café, almost throwing herself against my chest.

"Oof," I grunted. "What the- what?"

She separated her face from my shirt and squeaked again, no more understandably than the first time, and waved her hands for emphasis. "What? I can't- slow down." Some people were looking our way now. "Okay, hang on."

With some difficulty I managed to back out of the café and drag her with me, Coffee girl rapidly approaching hyperventilation and piping a random syllable here and there. Something told me we'd never make it if I tried to go for the stairs and I settled for hiding behind the Self Help shelves, taking a chance that we'd have our privacy. She still hadn't said one coherent thing yet.

"You're going to have to slow down if you want me to understand," I advised, and covered her hands with my own. "Breathe. Deep. In, and out."

It took a little coaxing, but eventually she caught onto the idea and copied me, some natural color returning to her made-up but white face. Her eyes were still dilated with sheer panic, though, and it was with a thumping heart I waited for her to speak.

"I graduated," she whispered.

That's it? "Okay," I said uncertainly.

She shook her head frantically, her pearl drop earrings whipping back and forth. "No, I _graduated_."

I was missing something here, that much was obvious.

"I- I- I -" At this point she had to stop and take another few deep breaths, squeezing so hard that my hands hurt. "I made the decision. I told Kaa-san, and Nii-chan, that I'm… going to get my own apartment."

Everything in the bookstore stopped. For one heartbeat.

"You _what?_"

"I d-did it. I told them that I wanted to move into my own place for college, that I wasn't going to live with either of them." She was literally trembling, her eyes still terrified, but her back was straight and her chin high. Stupefied, I could only stutter one word.

"W-why?"

"Why? It was your idea! You know _why_."

"No, I mean- last week you wouldn't even consider the idea. Why did you…" Grow a spine? Stand up for yourself? "… change your mind?"

At that she shook her head, slowly and helplessly. "I don't know. I- I just… saw it."

"What?"

"_It_," she repeated, as if I should know what that meant. "I was at my school, all dressed up for graduation and wearing my cap and gown. My family was in the crowd, clapping and cheering when I crossed the stage. The dean handed me my degree, and- and… it was fake. They use rolled-up blank parchment for the ceremony and mail out the real degrees later, you know."

Actually, I didn't know that. Not like I bothered to go to my own graduation ceremony.

"It was just a piece of paper," she continued. "It meant nothing. I couldn't stop staring at it, hearing your words over and over again inside my head until I thought I would explode. It was all just so stupid; I was graduating but not growing up. My family wasn't ever going to let me grow up."

She paused then to take a shuddering breath. "I knew it had to be today or never. They all came crowding around me, my mom and my stepdad and Nii-chan, giving me gifts and hugs and… I told them. Just like that, out of the blue, that I'd get my own apartment for college. Everyone just froze, and stared at me. It was horrible. Then they started arguing with me, then with each other, and it all went to hell faster than I could blink. I had to get out of there. Mom and Nii-chan were so busy yelling at each other they didn't even notice when I left, and I got on a bus and came straight here. I had to see you, I had to be with _you_ because I know you're the only one that will understand."

Her little hands were holding onto mine for dear life, but her terrified eyes were dry. She wasn't upset, she was _excited_. Scared, yes, but proud too. She'd done something today she'd never done before and the only person she wanted to share that with was me.

I didn't realize I'd moved until her nose bumped against mine, and I could feel her shallow breathing on my lips. She was just so soft, and smelled so good, something delicious waiting to be tasted.

"Congratulations," I murmured, the word hardly more than a mumble of sound in the lack of space between us. And then my lips were on hers, kissing her, claiming her, showing approval better than any words could. She responded eagerly, almost desperately, perhaps seeking reassurance. This was not any kiss of respectable distance, as they always had been before, now her body pressed so closely to mine I could feel her heartbeat. Her arms encircled my neck and it seemed only natural to slip my hands around her small waist. Coffee girl wasn't as voluptuous as some female duelists I could name, but in my arms she felt perfect.

We parted for breath. I could feel the air moving in and out of her lungs, escaping from between her lips in shallow ragged gasps. And I, who could bring an attacker twice my size to the ground without breaking a sweat, was in a similar state. Read the Economist now? Not likely.

"Dinner?"

"Yes please."

- - - - - - -

The restaurant was almost empty, given the position of the hands on the clock, and quiet. A nice place, nice enough to keep out anyone Coffee girl might be acquainted with, one that I'd happened to recognize as the site of a past business lunch. The hostess took one look at the two of us, and Coffee girl's dress, and was quick to seat us in a private booth far to the back. She stuck to iced tea; I felt the need for a restorative beer.

"To graduation," I proposed, and raised my bottle. "The real one."

She ducked her head and giggled nervously, but clinked her glass against my drink. Soft and muted atmosphere notwithstanding, Coffee girl couldn't sit still and was fidgeting in her seat like an executive who just can't wait to report his stunning sales record. The glass was shaking slightly in her hand when she returned it to the table.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, then shook her head. "I feel like I'm going to explode any second," she confided, her voice low in spite of our total privacy. "It's like there's this energy inside me that might shoot out through my skin and I can barely keep it contained and you probably think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"Not at all," I assured her. "I remember that feeling. It's independence. You'll get used to it."

"It tingles," Coffee girl decided, an uncertain smile flickering in and out of existence. "But it's scary feeling too."

"I know."

At that she raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What would you know about that?"

"Contrary to whatever you might read in the newspapers, I _was_ born from human parents. I know what it's like to be scared."

"Scared, like I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-doing-scared? No."

"Yes."

"When?"

"Plenty of times. I remember…" I took a contemplative swig of beer and let a few memories stroll through my mind, old and outdated ones. "…when my adoptive father died and the leadership of the company fell to me. Just a week after his funeral was my first executive meeting, and I was scared as hell."

Coffee girl had gone wide-eyed with amazement again, looking just like she did when I fed her some economic fact. "Really?"

"Really." That's when I caught myself, stiffened, and gave her a sharp look of warning. "You better not tell anyone about this, by the way."

"Oh, no!" Hastily she shook her head. "I wouldn't."

"Good. I was barely into my teens, and I had to walk into that room and sit at the head of a table full of men more than twice my age. Most of them were after my chair and couldn't be trusted, I'm sure none of them believed I could actually run the company. And there were times when I wondered if they were right."

Coffee girl looked riveted. "I would die. How did you get through that?"

"I almost didn't. Right away two of the vice-presidents tried to throw me for a loop, burying me with technical details for their competing missile spec designs and then demanding a decision."

I could feel my heartbeat speeding up with the memory of it, the pounding adrenaline that had been flowing through my blood that day as I sat and watched so calmly. The old man had trained me to never let anything slip through my facial expression and I didn't fail him in that, at least.

Coffee girl was on the edge of her seat. "What did you say?"

"I knew what they were trying to do, could see how they were working together to maneuver me onto their own playing field. And I realized right then that I'd never survive if I played by their rules. I had to make my own game."

And that's literally what I did.

"I told them that, from this date forward, the company was discontinuing all missile guidance programming, all weapon design, and terminating any outstanding contracts with our buyers. Departments would be deconstructed and reformed to the purpose of a new product – entertainment."

"You said that? Right then and there?"

"Right then and there. And yeah, I was terrified. But I never backed down, not through all their shouting and raving and then the rounds of downsizing as my orders went into effect. To this day, I know I did the right thing – it's my life, after all. I had to do what I wanted."

"Wow… it's not so different from my story, in a way."

"I know. Why do you think I argued my point so much?"

She blinked, and then understanding filtered into her eyes. The shaded light above our heads turned them so gold. And then a genuine smile played across her lips.

"You know, I think you're quite nice."

"Don't tell anybody that, either."

"I cross my heart," she promised, performing the accompanying motion that, incidentally, drew my attention to her neckline. I liked that dress, a little cream-colored number trimmed in lace that displayed a slim waist and hips normally concealed by jeans.

"You, ah, look nice, by the way," I muttered, and took another quick swallow of alcohol. Coffee girl blushed a light pink and looked down.

"Thank you. My mother's graduation present. I guess this is the last time in a long time I'll have a new dress."

She uttered a tiny and resigned sigh.

"Guess you're not looking forward to going home tonight, huh?"

"No. It's going to be terrible. But- it can't be any worse than those men in your company. And if you could do it then I can too."

"Well said," I complimented.

"Still, I'm not exactly in a hurry either. Um, do you…"

I placed a hand over her nervously tapping fingers, holding them still. "I've got all the time in the world."

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters

Well. Obviously I did not get this chapter done before my feet hit American soil, and for that I am sorry. I made it as far as the invitation to dinner (kind of a late lunch, actually) and then everything just snowballed. Conversations are tricky things for me, so I had to hold off until I could spend some quality time with my laptop. That meant not just coming home but seeing all my friends and family, attending one wedding, and – oh yeah – looking for a job. Still working on that last one, by the way, which means Coffee Girl is now skating perilously close to real life. Wish me luck.

To Elegant Destruction: I'm glad you like the story and I assure you that I'm familiar with the phrase 'first-person narrative'. Speaking of which, Vespera, you have a good point. I hope her little speech early this chapter helped to fill you in a little better on Coffee girl's thoughts. As the relationship becomes more and more 'normal', there will be more open conversation between them and I think we'll get a better look at what's going on in her head.


	12. acceleration

It is a poor corporate leader that can't evaluate the facts and produce a logical, relevant, _honest _conclusion – even if that honest conclusion happens to fly in the face of everything said corporate leader has ever believed in his entire life. The facts were that I treated Coffee girl to a great meal that Sunday afternoon, one that lasted nearly two hours thanks to conversation and dessert. And that I didn't take her home promptly afterwards, but went for a drive through town and then – what the heck – all the way to the water's edge. And that once there I let the Lexus idle with the radio on while Coffee girl and I did all the work.

And the conclusion?

Was that I _really liked_ kissing Coffee girl. And she seemed to enjoy the activity just as much, judging by such clues as hot skin and ragged breathing and the way she almost threw herself into my arms as soon as I let go of the steering wheel. She was, understandably, not anxious to return to her home and I would have been happy to oblige her if I hadn't known my own family was waiting for me at mine. I could have called and fed him a lie, but given the context of her amazing triumph that day it felt wrong. Apologetically, I rekindled the engine once the sun had touched the water.

It's okay, she'd sighed. Have to go home sometime.

You'll make it. I know you will.

Another moment by the curb to square her shoulders, and she grasped the paper shopping bag overflowing with flowers and a teddy bear that had been gifts from her family. I didn't envy her at all.

See you next week?

Of course. They could never keep me from that.

'**acceleration'**

Once again she was already there when I arrived, poring over something was definitely not a fantasy novel. In fact, it curiously resembled a newspaper.

"Who are you?" I asked lightly, dropping into my usual chair, "and what do you think you're doing at my table?"

She directed a rather despairing glance at me and then sighed, dropping her chin in one hand.

"This is so much less fun than reading. I don't enjoy it at all, but you know the rules have changed up a bit."

"Such as your arrival time."

"Oh yeah." She grimaced slightly and shrugged. "Since I didn't visit my brother this weekend it didn't really matter what time I left; Mom was in the middle of another sulk and locked up in her bedroom anyway. I've been here for a couple of hours already."

"Family's not taking it well, I gather."

"Family is not taking it well. After I got home last week…" She shuddered. "Kaa-san was furious that I'd just walked out on her at my graduation ceremony, on top of everything else, and returned home so late."

"Tell her why?"

"Are you kidding? I told her I just wanted to get away from her and Nii-chan, which is true, because their shouting made me feel so awful. Then she said that I _should_ feel awful, and started on a lecture that I'm sure she practiced all afternoon. Moving out is a silly decision, bound to fail, and… a lot more."

"I'm not surprised. What did you say?"

"Not much at all, actually. She never really paused for breath. But I didn't let myself forget your story about the other men in your company, and held onto what I knew was right for me. So when she'd finished, finally, I just told her that I hadn't changed my mind and goodnight."

Another, smaller, sigh escaped her lips. "That's how it went every day this week, with a few tantrums and crying at the dinner table mixed in. And when I tried calling my brother, he never picked up. So I took the hint and didn't come to meet him. And now here I am."

"Here you are."

"You don't think he'll refuse to speak to me forever, do you? I really don't want that at all."

"You know him better than I do."

"That's true." The doubt clouding her eyes cleared away, and she smiled a little. "Nii-chan is a very kind-hearted person. He's probably sulking a bit right now, but I'm sure he'll come around eventually. His friends will tell him to, if nothing else. They're a good group."

"Mm. Meanwhile…" I tapped the paper with an inquisitive look, and she groaned.

"Well, I think it was around Wednesday that she claimed I didn't know how to live alone, or have the means to support myself if I did. And she's completely right. It's true I don't know anything about paying bills or stuff like that, but I should take it one step at a time. I have to find a job!"

She thumped her fist against the Classifieds in a weak water imitation of some assertive executive.

"You've never had a job, have you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah," I answered in almost the same moment. "It is." Her face crumpled and I was quick to reassure her. "But that's okay. Summer's a good time to get your first job, go entry-level and stress your personal qualities, promise that you're reliable and willing to work long hours. You'd probably be good for customer service."

"Really?"

"Sure. You're…" My voice dropped a few notches. "…um, attractive. And amiable. Easy to get along with. You'll get hired somewhere."

"That's so nice of you to say so!" She beamed. "I've circled a few jobs here, but I'm a little nervous about calling."

"Don't. Go in person to pick up an application, and take it elsewhere to fill out. Use a typewriter, don't write longhand. And when you take it back, be sure and ask for the hiring manager so you can give it directly to him."

"Oh. Okay."

She looked a little overwhelmed, but nodded. At least I was trying to help, not like the rest of her family. Coffee girl looked a little stressed – a side effect of independence. Enough was enough.

"I can't read my papers with your job search spread everywhere." Not giving her any time to protest, I folded up the papers and shoved them to her side of the table. "Go get your book. Time to relax."

She waffled, but nodded. "You're right."

The papers were stuffed messily into her bag, and she stood up.

"You should get a job at a bookstore," I commented, offhandedly. "You'd fit in."

"Hey, good idea."

She collected her fantasy novel, and we read.

At 5:30, she closed it, but when she moved in her chair she hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Er- I just realized there's no reason that I have to go. Mom isn't at home thinking that I'm coming from Nii-chan's, she doesn't have any idea where I am. She doesn't know when I'm coming back. She's angry at me no matter what time I return."

"So what will you do?"

"Oh, I'll go home. I mean, I know you have to get home too and it's not really fair to make her worry."

I observed her shoulders slump, and eyes fall to the floor.

"Time to get out."

"Job first," she reminded me. "I have to get the money for it."

She didn't ask me for a loan, of course, and I didn't offer one. Hey, she needed the incentive to get her into a job. We left the bookshop.

Sometimes I wondered if Coffee girl knew. That that was why I'd allowed her to become such a big part of my life, why I ever spoke to her at all. Was that why she never asked me for a thing? And was it only me? Maybe, and maybe she realized that keeping it that way was the best and fastest path to independence. If only with me, she'd find it.

Still, that didn't mean I couldn't give her something if I _wanted_.

"I've got something for you," I blurted without prelude, upon pulling up to her curb. Coffee girl blinked and looked my way with round innocent eyes.

"What?"

"I've got something for you," I repeated, and plucked the square velvet box from my coat pocket. "Uh, a graduation present."

I almost shoved it into her hand and she had to fumble for it, still staring at me. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. Everybody else did." Like I'd let her brother show me up with a stupid little teddy bear? Please. "Besides, you got me a gift for Christmas and I never got you anything… calculate value with market-rate interest and I owe you at least this much."

Coffee girl stifled a giggle. "I don't think it works quite like that."

"Well, still." I shifted in my seat and glared at the steering wheel, feeling very out of my element. "I wanted to. Just open it."

"Yes sir," she replied sweetly, and pried open the little box. "Oh… it's beautiful."

A random jewelry store across the plaza from the office, a glimpse at the window display and an impulsive purchase, the result of which she picked up between finger and thumb to admire.

"I thought it would match your brother's locket," I couldn't help but point out, when the light of the sunset gleamed off the antique silver ring.

"Oh…" Her other hand closed over the necklace in question and her eyes glistened. "That's so wonderful of you. I love it."

"Hn," I muttered. Coffee girl slipped the gift onto her finger and she held out her hand for inspection.

"Arigatou gozaimas. I'll wear it always."

Something in my chest warmed at the words. I was just leaning in for another kiss when she giggled again.

"You know, this could be an anniversary gift too."

"Huh?"

"It's the first Sunday of June, we've been sharing a table at the bookshop for exactly one year. I only remember because it was the first Sunday after school let out."

"Oh." One whole year. Huh.

"What a strange year it's been," she mused, a little more softly, almost to herself. "Well, anyway, I should go. Thanks again." She closed the distance between us and dropped a quick kiss on my lips. "Bye! See you next week!"

She slipped out of the car and shut the door behind her, sparing me another cheerful wave before skipping to the house. I'd lifted her mood, clearly, in spite of what she was about to face inside that house.

What a strange year indeed.

- - - - - - - - - -

Next Sunday Coffee girl threw herself into my arms the second I stepped into the café, and so I was hit by not only a girl but a wave of déjà vu. She couldn't have graduated again, could she?

"What is it this time?"

She turned her face up, eyes sparkling.

"You're never gonna believe it! I got a job!"

"Wha… already?"

"Yes!"

She squeezed me extra hard around the ribs in her joy, and I had to stifle a grunt of pain.

"Congratulations," I wheezed.

"Oh! Sorry, I was just so excited. And you know what? Today I'm going to buy your coffee for you."

"Huh?"

She closed a surprisingly strong grip around my wrist and towed me to the café counter.

"Yes! You took me out to that wonderful restaurant and you gave me a present – I'm wearing it, see? – and so I want to do something for you. And I'm employed! I can afford to buy you a cup of coffee."

She looked so proud of herself, I couldn't even demur. "The usual," I muttered to the usual employee, who was staring at Coffee girl with raised eyebrows. "And thank you very much."

"You're welcome!" She looked ready to leap onto a cloud at any moment, positively shining as she handed over her precious cash. I hid a smile behind my cup.

"So, what's the job? I'm surprised that you found one so fast."

"Oh, me too."

We walked back to our table – or rather, I walked and she danced. "And it's all thanks to you! You had that great idea that I should work in a bookshop, and I thought 'He's right. I should.' In fact, I even thought about asking for an application here, since I know the store so well, but then I thought it might be weird for you if I was working here."

More to the point, would be working and wearing a name tag. Yes, that would be weird.

"It's rather out of the way, anyway. And then I realized I shouldn't be looking at stores near my home, I should look for a place near the college campus. I remembered what you said and took the train up, so I could approach people in person."

She waved her hand in a distracted manner. "Oh, and all this happened on Tuesday. I was trying to take the initiative, like you said I should."

"I did?"

"Yes, you know… make your own decisions, don't wait to be told what to do. That sort of thing. Anyway, I'd hardly taken ten steps from the train station when I saw the campus bookstore, where they sell the students' textbooks. And I thought, why not? I just walked in and asked if they were taking applications, and it turned out they were! Because all the senior students on staff just quit, and they didn't have enough people to cover shifts over the summer! The manager gave me an application but I remembered what you said, so I went to the library to use their typewriter. He was so surprised that I brought it back so quickly! We talked a little bit and I tried to be friendly and smile a lot, and then I went home. He called the very next day, though, and asked when I could come in for an interview!"

Coffee girl paused for breath, finally, still glowing. My papers were forgotten under my elbows; entertained, I took a sip of my drink.

"I was so nervous. I really wished he'd waited until the next week so I could ask you for advice, but I didn't dare put him off. So I said that would be fine, and I dressed up in my black skirt and white blouse (the most professional outfit I have) and took the train up again. I had to sneak out, though, so Mom wouldn't see. And the interview wasn't scary at all, he was very nice and we spent most of the time talking about what I would study when I started school. Then he asked me about my schedule, because so many employees were taking off for vacation and he really needed someone that could work a lot of hours. Of course I'm so anxious to get out of the house that I told him I could work any day he needed, any hours."

That caught my attention, and I frowned. "What about Sunday afternoon?"

"Oh, except that." She grinned reassuringly. "I told him I must have Sunday afternoon. Anyway, he seemed really pleased, and on Friday he called and told me the job was mine! I'll do training tomorrow and then I can start. Imagine, my very own paycheck. It's so exciting!"

"It is," I agreed, wholeheartedly. I was so impressed, not to mention distracted by her dazzling smile, that I completely forgot to tell her my own good news. But a phone call from Hong Kong could wait, nothing can compete with a first paycheck. "I'm very happy for you."

She dimpled.

"Have you told your mother yet?"

"No, not yet. I wanted you to be the first to know."

"Oh," was all I could say to that. Involuntarily I glanced at the silver ring on her finger, and struggled not to smile.

"I'll have to tell her tomorrow, of course, and she won't like it. It'll just show her that I'm serious about moving out, and it will be another big argument. But she can't stop me, right?"

"Right. And how about your brother?"

This time Coffee girl's smile faded. "I haven't spoken with him yet, actually. I've left a bunch of messages on his machine, but he still hasn't called back. One of his friends told me he's still in a sulk. I wish he'd at least talk to me, so he could see how happy I am."

"Maybe he doesn't want to see how happy you are."

"Don't say that," she pleaded. "No more talking about my family, I want to be in a good mood today. I feel very productive. I've got a job to start this week, now I need to find a place to live."

"And where will you look for that?"

"The school has a paper with advertisements, I picked up a copy after the interview."

"Well, look at you. Being all assertive. You almost make me want to hire you." I tapped her on the nose and she crinkled it.

"Stop. You know that would be really weird, don't even suggest it. Suppose you had to downsize me?"

"I don't downsize, I… redistribute work."

"Of course you do." She winked and pushed her chair back from the table. "I'm calmer now, I'm going to go get my book. Thanks for putting up with my hyper cheer."

"Hey, free coffee."

She giggled and left.

Read.

Drive.

Kiss.

Goodnight.

When I got home my brother remarked that I had a weird glow about me. Don't know what he's talking about.

- - - - - - - -

June melted away under the hot summer sun, every day with the same bright blue sky and carefree breeze. Coffee girl was wearing impossibly short shorts and little sleeveless tops in response to the weather, her long hair pulled up into a ponytail to keep it off her neck. I generally pulled it free so I could run my fingers through her hair, though. Summer is good.

For her the month brought mixed emotions: the joy of independent work and her very own paycheck, balanced by a mother that detested her newfound pride and a brother that still declined to meet her on weekends. Her work continued regardless, and she confided in me that she loved every minute of it.

Not just for the paycheck, she insisted. For the first time in my life people take me seriously, don't try to protect me or coddle me or make the decisions for me. Well, first after you, that is.

Mm. Lean back against the wheel a little more, you're on the parking brake.

So yes, summer was good for the both of us. Whatever she was going through with her family, it didn't prevent her from going to work and searching for an apartment every day. And it didn't prevent her from our Sunday afternoon.

- - - - - - -

"I want to give up," she sighed in despair one week, the first Sunday of July. "There just isn't anything! The only empty apartments are so expensive, and all the ones that I can afford have waiting lists that go on forever. I can't believe I actually have to furnish a letter of recommendation just to meet with a landlord; getting a job was easier than this."

"Rent control," I supplied, unfolding my papers and scanning the headlines.

"Eh? What's that?"

"Those cheap but unavailable buildings you're looking at are subject to the city's older ordinances. By law the landlord can't go over a certain amount, and since it's so much cheaper the demand overwhelms supply. The landlords can afford to get picky – and, incidentally, they don't have to worry about keeping their buildings very clean. You probably don't want to live there."

"You know so much."

"Just what's relevant to my business." I'd had to dodge all sorts of draconian ordinances to get the real estate for my park, and to this day couldn't recall the experience without a shudder.

I shuddered.

"Well, I wish you knew where I could find a place to live. This is impossible!"

"Nothing's impossible in the world of business. If one deal doesn't work, go around it."

"Oh, do hush," she ordered, looking irritable. "No more wisdom today, I'm not in the mood."

I glanced up just briefly from the Journal. Coffee girl looked stressed, and I decided to stay out of the line of fire. "Sorry. Just trying to help."

She melted instantly. "I know. I'm sorry too, it's just been hard. Looking, and Mom, and stuff. I just want to relax and read now, just peace and quiet, only quiet. Okay?"

"Okay."

Something buzzed loudly and she almost jumped out of her chair, diving for her purse. Again the phone vibrated angrily and she fumbled to unfold it.

"You left your phone on? What happened to quiet?"

"Shh!" Stunned, she looked from the screen to me and then the screen again. "It's my brother! He actually called me!"

"But it's our reading time -"

"Shh!" She'd clicked the receive button. "Onii-chan?"

Once again that loud and obnoxious voice blared forth from the earpiece, so loud I could almost make out words. Sounded kind of familiar, actually…

I didn't have more than a few seconds to think about it before she was scurrying out of the café, phone glued to her ear. I knew she hadn't spoken directly to him for a month now and how important it was to her that he'd finally called, but I couldn't help feeling a little annoyed he'd chosen Sunday afternoon to call. And that she hadn't even looked at me when she got up.

Jealous? Me? Never. I just got up and followed because I was curious. Coffee girl must have been moving the whole time because I had to wander the store before I finally found her, pacing underneath the staircase.

"…no. No, I don't mind at all. I can. Okay. I'll see you there. Bye!"

She hung up and jumped on me before I thought she knew I was there.

"You'll never guess!"

"He's agreed to meet you."

"You guessed! She told me she'd talk to him and she must have finally gotten through to him… anyway, there's this outdoor free concert starting in a little while and he just called to ask if I could make it! I'm sure this means he's over it and ready to talk like a normal human being. I knew he'd come around, I just knew it."

"Good for you. What do you mean by 'a little while'?"

"Oh, well he asked if I could meet him by the entrance at 4:00."

She cringed when she saw the look on my face.

"But you're here until six, this is our reading time. You can't leave early."

"I know, I'm _sorry_. But I just couldn't say no, not when he's trying to wave the white flag. I just hate it that he's been keeping his distance and I really _really_ want to make things right between us. You know how important that is to me. Wouldn't you do the same for your brother?"

Damn it, why did she have to go there? I crossed my arms and sulked.

"I don't see why I have to be dropped, I'm not the one that's been giving you the silent treatment for a month."

"It's a special one-time thing," she pressed. "I'm only doing it so I can make up with my brother, if he's ready to talk now I have to go. It won't happen again, I swear."

"It better not."

"So you're okay with it?"

I shrugged and muttered something under my breath. She, correctly, took this to indicate acceptance and kissed me appreciatively on one cheek.

"Thank you."

"Hn."

"I have to go now if I'm going to catch a bus."

"Wait." What the hell am I doing? "I'll give you a ride."

- - - - - - - -

Scowling, I pulled up to the curb by the city park amidst a throng of dippy concert-goers. If one of those tin tanks even put a scratch on my Lexus…

"You're really wonderful for doing this," Coffee girl complimented me. "And for being so nice about it."

I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and fantasized that the boy in front of me was her brother, and how easy it would be to run him over.

"I've put you out of your way and I feel just terrible about it. I promise to make it up to you somehow, soon."

That intrigued me enough to lift a little of my irritation, and my grip on the wheel relaxed. Coffee girl unlatched her door, trying to peer through my windshield. "Oh- I think I saw him just now in that crowd. Gotta go. Wish me luck!"

"You know I don't believe in that."

"I know, but this time I don't think hard work is going to save me."

"Good luck then, I guess."

"Arigatou!" She pushed herself back to my side of the car and dropped a quick but enthusiastic kiss on my lips. "I'll see you next week."

"Mm."

She was gone and away from the car in the next minute, wending her way through the crowd. I lost sight of her before I could even see her reunite with this so-very-special brother of hers.

Briefly I contemplated following, but abandoned the idea. Once I'd parked and returned I'd never find her, and even if I did what would I do then? Watch her from afar while she talked to her brother? She had enough to think about tonight as it was. And even though I was still very, very annoyed that my precious Sunday afternoon had been crippled, I felt strangely good.

Because she was happy.

Strange.

- - - - - - - -

This time our table was empty, there was no Coffee girl waiting to greet me. As I always had before I bought my drink and opened my papers, this time paying particular interest to an article in the Economist on multinational management. In fact, I would probably clip and copy it for my top executive staff.

She arrived at her usual time, just past 3:30, looking thoughtful.

"The meeting went well, I take it."

"With my brother? Yeah… it did. Pretty well, anyway. A lot of our friends were there and at first we just watched the concert, then after a while he asked me if I wanted to get a drink with him."

"Ah, separation and intimidation."

"No, silly, all he did was talk. He told me how hurt he was that I'd decided to live alone after he went to so much trouble to get that 2-bedroom apartment for us, and then doubly hurt when I walked out on my own graduation ceremony without even saying goodbye. But he'd been talking with- well, his non-girlfriend and I think she made him see that he got that apartment without bothering to ask me how I felt about it. And how I must have felt that Sunday when he and my mother fought so bitterly."

A shadow crossed her face and she covered it by taking a sip of her drink.

"In the end, he admitted he had no right to be angry at all, and that I could just go on home if I wanted to. And that's when I realized he'd spent this whole month thinking that I didn't like being with him, and didn't want to see him anymore. I had to tell him that I _did_ like spending time with him, that I loved him, but that living alone was just something I had to. I don't think he really understood though – or believed me. When he asked about this weekend I had to tell him I was working on Saturday, and he didn't even know I'd gotten a job. So then we had to have a big long talk about that, and in the end I told him I'd take the train up for Sunday lunch, which is where I've just been."

She collapsed against the back of her chair with a sigh. "Things are different now. It was so stiff and formal, not at all like our usual outings – thank goodness his non-girlfriend was there too. I wish things could be just like how they were."

"And undo all that you've done this past month?"

"No. Just… with him. I wish it could be the same with him."

I thought about all those complaints that he babied her and didn't take her seriously, and wondered if she really meant that. Still, she seemed so wistful that I couldn't bring myself to point it out.

"At least he's talking to you. That's progress."

"You're right. And oh! I almost forgot." From within her oversized purse she produced a small brown paper bag, and unfolded the opening. "For last week, leaving the shop to give me a ride there. It was the sweetest thing, so I baked you cookies for a thank you."

Cookies? It took every scrap of my training, but I concealed all disappointment behind an expressionless mask. When she said 'make it up to you', I'd had something else in mind entirely.

"I wasn't sure what kind you would like," she was saying, "so I baked two. Chocolate chip and peanut butter."

I tried to remember what either tasted like and could not; aside from her Christmas gift it had been many years since my last cookie. But she was smiling so gratefully, her eyes hopeful, that I didn't tell her any of that. I simply selected a cookie and bit into it.

"Delicious. Thank you."

"It's the least I could do! I know what happened last week was very annoying to you, and I promise it will never happen again."

She did look properly contrite, and I swallowed the disappointment along with a mouthful of chocolate.

"It's fine. I'm just glad he's talking to you again."

And I was speaking truthfully. I took another cookie.

- - - - - - - -

The hot and sticky July oozed on, bringing flocks of downtown dwellers into the café for iced teas and frappucinos. Coffee girl had begun to see her brother again on a weekly basis, squeezing him in between the work schedule and me with a weekend that left her rather breathless. She confided that he'd begun to loosen up some, relaxing and joking more, but it still felt as though there was a barrier between them. It made her sad.

She didn't seem sad today, though. In fact, she seemed to be in a remarkably good mood, skipping into the café with a little hum under her breath and reading her book with a bigger-than-average smile on her face. I noticed but said nothing, not curious enough to interrupt her reading or mine. When six o'clock came she almost ran to my car, settling in the front seat with a delighted and mysterious grin.

"Don't get on the highway," she instructed, once I'd reached the parking garage exit.

"Excuse me?"

"I want to show you something."

She would answer no questions, but directed me to turn right and then right again, moving away from the highway to suburbia and into parts of downtown with older and sometimes crumbling buildings.

"And… stop!"

The Lexus paused by the curb of a faded looking house, its pocket handkerchief of a front garden tangled with weeds and paint peeling from the walls. Coffee girl beamed at it and unlatched her door. "Come on!"

"Where are we?"

"It's a surprise, quick!"

She was already out of the car, waving impatiently for me to follow, and I could see no alternative but to shrug and obey. By the lights in the window and motion within I guessed that people were home, but she didn't move toward the front door. Instead she snatched my wrist and dragged me around to the side, past a tiny garage and around its corner. Hanging precariously to the wall via some rusty screws was an old spiral staircase, and this she scrambled up without even appearing to notice the dangerous creaks. I followed more slowly, trying to avoid hitting my head on the higher stairs, and caught up with her outside a cracked and rather incongruously placed door. She slid a key into the knob.

"What the -"

"Shh!" Grinning madly, she opened the door and flipped a switch. And a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling scattered light over one of the ugliest rooms I've ever seen.

The thin brown carpet wore multiple stains, and looked a bit frayed around the edges. The walls had perhaps once been white, in distant years before. Along the edge of the far wall, which wasn't very far at all given its size, were a few ugly cabinets and a sink, a stove but no oven, and a relatively new-looking miniature fridge.

"Ta-da!" shouted Coffee girl, throwing her arm out in a gesture of proud satisfaction.

I stared. "What is this?"

"My new home! You were right, you were totally right about looking for an alternative when something looks impossible. So I stopped looking at corporate apartment ads and instead started scanning the Classifieds for rentals by owner. And I met this lady! She's the one living in that house, with her two little children, and she just finished a divorce. And that's just too bad because she seems so nice and anyway, she decided she needed a little more money and so she'd rent out this little flat above the garage. And then I called! She said she liked me right away because I'm a girl and look very clean-cut, and that maybe I can even baby-sit her children for extra money while I'm living here. And if I paint and fix up the flat, and take care of her garden, she'll reduce the rent! Isn't it perfect?"

She danced along the 'kitchen', showing me all the cabinet space and the fridge her landlady had just purchased, then proceeded to show off the closet and bathroom.

"And it's small, sure, but that's okay because so am I. I'm just a block away from a bus stop to get to work and college, rent is only a third of what I'm making at the store, and I won't have noisy neighbors to worry about."

I eyed the ceiling, showing signs of water damage. "But wherever will you hang the chandelier?"

She giggled and poked me in the ribs. "Stop. I know this is probably smaller than your bathroom, but it's a lot for me. You know why?"

"I can guess."

"Because it's _mine_. I found it, I signed the lease, I have the key, and it's mine, mine, mine. This…" She swept an enraptured gaze around her new home. "- is what independence looks like."

Her sparkling eyes met mine again. "I signed on Thursday and I haven't told anyone else yet. I wanted you to be the first to know."

"I love you."

Coffee girl froze.

I froze.

Years passed and still I didn't move, shocked and astonished as she was at those words. I hadn't even planned to say them, they had taken on a will of their own.

"Wow," breathed Coffee girl. "I didn't expect that."

You and me both, I would have said if I was capable of speech.

"But I love you too."

Small apartments have their advantage after all. It didn't take her any time to close the distance between us and embrace me tightly, her heart beating fast against mine. I lowered my head, tipped her chin up, and kissed her.

This place is gorgeous.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters

Kaiba: Help! I'm suffocated by the fluff! Can't… breathe…

Peacewish: It's all part of the plan, blue eyes. But don't die before I finish the story, just a couple of chapters to go.

Kaiba: Must – have – air.

Peacewish: Isn't this fun?


	13. definition

**loved,** **lov·ing,** **loves **_(verb, transitive)_ – 1. To have a deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward (a person).

I returned the dictionary to its shelf and retraced my path back to the café, not wanting my coffee to get cold without me. Words on a page, black and white, transitive verb – was that what I'd meant? It seemed impossible to believe, now. 'Tender' and 'affection' were not words generally associated with me, and there was a good reason for that. I was a duelist, a corporate leader, a man who lived successfully because I depended on logic instead of emotion and people. Looking at the words printed so sharply and coolly on paper, I couldn't believe I'd ever brought myself to say it.

It's her. And this place. For well over a year they'd been my escape but I was stupid enough to think that I could section Coffee girl away into just that, that she couldn't affect any other part of me. She wasn't just the girl that I read with anymore, she wasn't even just a girlfriend I saw once a week. She was the girl I thought about _constantly_.

She was on my mind in the mornings, when I woke up and showered. In the day, when something happened at work I wondered what she would have thought of it. At night, when I was tinkering with something in the lab I imagined how she would stare and ask questions, never understanding the complex answers that followed but always understanding how much it all meant to me. I fantasized about kissing her, and then the two of us in a more horizontal position where just kissing wasn't enough. It was so bad I couldn't even concentrate on the now-daily memos from Hong Kong.

2. To have a feeling of intense desire and attraction toward (a person).

So maybe it is love, after all.

'**definition'**

If Coffee girl noticed my restlessness then she didn't say anything, exhausted by her own trials in discovering freedom. Work was six days a week now, with the occasional overtime, and now that her brother was speaking to her again she'd reverted to spending the weekends with him. Still a little awkward, she confided, but thawing slowly and surely. Her mother was less amenable, and lowered eyes when I asked told me all I needed to know about that. For two weeks she'd been crossing days off her calendar until the big move, packing up clothes and taking a box over to the flat now and then. Her landlady generously offered to help her pick out a futon and drive it home, but other than that there would be no furniture.

"The only thing in my room that's mine, besides my books and clothes," she'd told me, "is my little pink TV. So it's not like I have to worry about actually _moving_ anything. I'll get my own futon and then eventually I can pick out some nice rugs to put over that nasty carpet. It'll be fun to decorate."

The eternal optimist.

She dropped into her usual chair with book and paper cup, tired smile on her face. "Hi."

"Hi. Today's the big day, right?"

"That's right. Last night was my last time to sleep at home, and it felt so strange. Most of my stuff wasn't even in my room anymore. And Mom was so unhappy. I felt bad for her, but I wasn't about to give up after coming this far. So tonight, I'll just go straight… home. To my new home." She shivered and clasped her hands nervously.

"I don't think I've ever spent a night alone before. I'm sure I'll get used to it, but I wonder if it will be a little scary."

"You'll get used to it. Here, I got you something." I gathered my resolve and produced the wrapped gift from my briefcase, pushing it across the table with one finger. I didn't wrap it, of course, you can pay people at the mall to do that. Coffee girl looked surprised. "A housewarming present," I explained. "To celebrate moving."

"Oh! You didn't have to do that, how sweet. Can I open it now?"

"Sure."

Smile a little less tired now, she peeled back the paper eagerly. Underneath she found a DVD, and when she saw the title her eyes popped open wide.

"_Casablanca!_"

"Collector's Edition," I added. "I saw it in the store and thought you'd like it."

"Oh, you're wonderful… but I don't have a DVD player."

"Yeah, I'd guessed that." I cleared my throat. "It's in the car. Your other housewarming present."

Coffee girl stared at me.

"But you -"

"I wanted to. Really. If you like, I can hook it up to your TV for you and then… we could watch it. Together." My hand covered hers but neither of us broke eye contact; dimly I heard my heart beat a little faster. For a long time she just stared, then she smiled shyly.

"You really want to watch it?"

"I really do."

"Then yes. I'd love for you to come over."

Reading time never passed so slowly. But it did, and that night when I drove her home – her true home – I came upstairs and installed the player for her. It was the night of the first Sunday of August, and hot, but she opened windows to catch the breeze.

We curled up on her new futon, and I watched _Casablanca_ for the first time. She spent her first night in her new home. We also did something else for the first time, and afterwards I collapsed next to her on the sheets with a mumbled "I love you."

3. To embrace or caress, to have sexual intercourse with.

"I love you too," she whispered, and it was good.

- - - - - - - - -

Change and business have always had a curious relationship. Change can bring opportunity, rocket the most unsuspecting entrepreneur to multinational stardom – or it can bring a fall from grace and annihilate not just a man's company but the entire industry. It all depends, I suppose, on how watchful the man is and if he's paying attention to the world around him. I'd always thought, given my stellar track record in the office and the duel arena, that I was one of the best.

I was wrong.

Change and business were two things very much on my mind the next Sunday, after Coffee girl's first week in her new home. She greeted me with a shy "hello" and a light pink blush on her cheeks, no doubt full of last Sunday's memories, and I greeted her with a nod and a brief smile of my own.

"How's the loft?"

"Oh, it's fine."

"Spending the night alone all right?"

"Oh yes. You were right, I got used to it. Still…" Her voice dropped a few notches. "I'm glad you came over last week."

"Me too."

"Did you like- um, did you like _Casablanca?_"

"It wasn't bad," I acknowledged. "In fact, it was great." I covered her hand with my own and held it, there on the café table. "Maybe we can do that again, sometime?"

"Definitely," she concurred quickly, and nodded. I hadn't expected any other answer, but I was relieved nonetheless. Apparently the way I hooked up the DVD player to the TV pleased her.

So all was well, but those two things were still on my mind. Coffee girl opened her book and read, I browsed through my papers and read, and by the time six o'clock rolled around I'd made up my mind. I'd been a part of her changes, and she should be a part of mine.

"I have to tell you something," I announced, quite abruptly, and she blinked. Something in my expression must have worried her, and she bit her lip.

"What, is anything wrong?"

"Huh? No, it's nothing bad. In fact, I have really good news. It started in June and I kept meaning to tell you, but things distracted me. The head of an arcade chain in Hong Kong gave me a call; seems they've been doing some marketing research over there and the region has a high consumer count of duelists. Until now the cards have always been imported from Japan and played the old-fashioned way, but this guy is ready to import more. He wants to distribute my company's product."

Coffee girl's brow creased slightly as she tried to follow the meaning of my words. "And, that's good?"

I exhaled. "Yes. That is very, very good. It means he's going to install my dueling arena technology in arcades throughout the city and resell the portable duel disks to game stores. I'm sending two of my top executives to live there and help the buyers market the products effectively, and I'll have to hire on dozens of new employees to cope with increased demand. The contract with Indonesia will have to be renegotiated. It's big – millions of yen big."

"Oh! Well that's wonderful, I'm so happy for you." She beamed and reached across the table to squeeze my hand in congratulations, but I wasn't through yet.

"I have to go there."

"What? To Hong Kong?"

"Yes. Not all the details are sorted out and I can't put the company through something this big without even meeting the local buyer at least once. To finalize the contract, the company lawyers and I will have to fly over, and we're going on the 17th. I'll… have to miss a Sunday."

"Oh." Her face fell a little, and her gaze dropped. "Oh, that's too bad. But- this is a really big deal for your company, it's important. You shouldn't worry about it."

"You could come with me."

Her chin turned up so sharply it must have hurt; stunned, she stared. "What?"

"You could come with me," I repeated, lacing my fingers through hers. "I'll be there five days, four nights, but I won't always have to be working. We can see the city together, go see anything you like. I haven't seen Hong Kong personally, but a lot of my vice-presidents have and it sounds like just the place you'd like. Lots of culture, shopping, old temples and art museums and things." She was still staring at me and I found myself pressing the case more urgently, wanting her to say yes more and more every minute. "I'll pay for all of it, of course, hotel and restaurants and so on. You don't have to worry about airfare, it's a corporate jet. You'll need a passport, though – do you have one?"

Her eyes had started to look a little glazed, but she nodded.

"And we'll be back at least a week before your classes start. It's just five days, could you get off work?"

She took a few moments to consider that, and again nodded. Silently.

"Well?"

"I- I don't know."

"Say yes. I want you to come with me, I don't want to go there with just lawyers for company. I'll, um, miss you."

She flushed and gripped my hand more tightly.

"Sorry, I'm just a little overwhelmed. I've never been asked to an exotic foreign city by a boy before."

"I should hope not. So what do you say?"

She opened her mouth and then hesitated, gently working her hand free of mine. "I don't know. I don't think…"

"What? That it wouldn't be fun for you? You wouldn't like it?"

"No, it's not that." Coffee girl's expression looked slightly pained as she groped for words. "It sounds wonderful. I'd love to go. It's just…"

"Just what?"

Her eyes flicked across our surroundings and she shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. "Can we go somewhere else?"

She didn't wait for an answer before she was out of her chair, her small and quick steps taking her out of the café and amongst the bookshelves. I followed her until she could see no one else and had stopped and turned.

"It's my brother."

"What? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Oh, how do I say this? If I go away with you, then I'd be missing a Sunday too. My Sunday with him."

"Only one -"

"Yes, but I'd still have to tell him something. And yes," she added when I opened my mouth, "I know I could lie. But after everything that's happened between us, things are just starting to get back to the way they were. He's my friend again, and I don't want to mess that up. I _could _lie to him but I don't _want _to. I don't want to have to keep something like a trip to Hong Kong a secret from him."

She took a deep breath, apparently nerving herself, and looked me straight in the eye.

"If I go with you, I have to tell him. About us."

I shrugged, fractionally. "Okay."

"Okay? Don't you understand how dangerous this could be?"

"As compared to telling him and your mother you're moving out? Compared to finding your own home and your own job to support it?"

"Well, no. And yes." Restlessly she paced the narrow width of the aisle, wringing hands. "I've grown a lot these past months, and you've helped me. I should be able to tell the truth, right? But I've kept so much from him and now I've got so much to tell; I don't know how to break it to him about you. He hates you more than anyone else I know."

I huffed exasperatedly. "Just because your brother feels the same way as half the city doesn't mean he can't learn to cope with us being together." She was making me dizzy, wearing a path on the carpet like she was, and the whole absurd situation had triggered a swelling frustration within. "Look, maybe I should just meet your stupid brother already. If you give me a chance to talk to him, he might realize he doesn't hate me after all."

Coffee girl stopped walking so abruptly, it was as if she'd bumped into some invisible barrier. Wearing a very peculiar expression on her face, she turned to me and said,

"What?"

There are moments, in a duel, when a card is drawn and the very air around me is charged with expectation. Even if the card is my opponent's and I see nothing but the look in his eyes, my skin crackles with anticipation and I know everything is about to change. I could feel such a moment now, inexplicably, and without reason my heart beat a little faster.

"I said," I repeated carefully, "that we should meet. Let me talk to your brother, give me a chance to make my case to him. He can't really hate me if he doesn't even know me."

Coffee girl's expression hadn't changed; if anything the strange look in her eyes had only become more pronounced.

"But you know my brother."

This time it was my turn to stare, so thrown that I could only say, "What?"

"You've met him before, you've often spoken with him. I saw you; he's the one who – well, he didn't exactly introduce us but he was there when we first met."

One bewildered stare met another, my mouth opening and closing helplessly while everything around me changed. Impossible, Coffee girl and I first met here in the bookshop. Didn't we? Vaguely I remembered some stray thought that she'd looked a little familiar, but such musings had been swept away by our many hours together. I hadn't even thought about it in over a year.

"What?" I said again, for lack of anything else to say.

The puzzled lines across her brow smoothed out, gradually, and the light of understanding came into her eyes. "Ohh… I get it. You -" She hesitated, looking almost unable to believe her own words. "You don't know who I am. Do you?"

Stare. Stupidly.

"What's my name?"

"Uh…" Coffee girl?

"Wow." She backed away from me, shaking her head in amazement. "And all this time I'd been flattering myself, thinking the great Kaiba Seto actually remembered me, that he liked me even in spite of a brother whom he despises. But you didn't know me at all. It's bizarre, yet it's almost funny. What have you been calling me, in your head, for the past year?"

I couldn't bring myself to say it. Trapped, frozen, I watched her push a few strands of hair back from her face and exhale.

"I guess I can't blame you, really. I mean, you had about a thousand and one things to worry about when we met. I was shy, I hardly spoke to you. And I think you were far too busy to even look right at me, so it's no surprise that you didn't remember me."

What was she talking about? When? Where? I fumbled to ask but was silenced when she raised her eyes to meet mine again.

"I have to go. Excuse me, Mr. Kaiba."

She turned and I snagged her elbow, a reaction almost purely instinct. My brain was still reeling. "Where are you going?"

"Home. I think I'll take the bus today, if you don't mind."

"But- but, what about Hong Kong?"

"Mr. Kaiba, I've already slept with a man that doesn't even know my name. I don't think I can go on vacation with him too."

Was it just my imagination, or had she already said my name more often than she did all last year? Rubbing it in that I didn't know hers? "Then tell me."

"No, I don't think I will." She wriggled out my grip, looking quite calm but with chin held high. "Since the first time I sat at your table, Mr. Kaiba, I thought you didn't care who my brother was, that you liked me in spite of all the nasty words you two have exchanged. Now I don't know if that's true. Maybe once you figure out who he is, you'll dump me."

"I would never -" She silenced me with two fingers on my lips.

"I'll be back next week. When you know who I am, maybe then I'll believe what you say. Ja ne."

This time I didn't move to stop her. With a swish of her long brown hair, Coffee girl – no, that's not her name, damnit – turned and left me alone with the books.

'**identification'**

For the first time in four months I entered my car alone, and drove straight home. My brother's face was hardly more than a blur when I stormed into the house, my direction to go on and start dinner without me tossed over my shoulder on the way up the stairs. Everything she'd said for the past fourteen months, all the clues, were swirling through my mind and frantically I tried to piece the puzzle together.

Nasty words exchanged? Despise? That's no help, I despise almost everyone I know and nasty words are part of my regular vocabulary. He hates me – so does most of Japan. But she said I'd spoken with him often, so he had to be someone I've met more than once. An employee? Her brother couldn't possibly be old enough to be one of the executives on my top floor, but maybe a lab tech…

No, that didn't fit. He was still in school, she said so, and I only hired college graduates for the tech positions. School! Maybe he and I went to the same high school? But I never spoke to anyone in that wretched place all the years I was there, so it didn't seem likely that I'd bothered crossing words with someone I didn't like. And it wasn't the sort of place that I'd have a thousand and one things to worry about.

Duel Monsters, then. She said her brother played the game, that had to be it. The thought had barely completed itself before I was in the second room of my bedroom suite, yanking open the doors of a tall wooden cabinet. Since the very beginning of my dueling career I'd filmed and saved every match that I could, collecting rows of surveillance tapes for study and analysis. Any top duelist that ever played in my park was in here; I had footage of every duel I'd played along with all the duels in my own tournament – city and blimp. Recklessly I started pulling discs from the shelves, combing through cases labeled by both name and date. She'd given me no timeline for a clue, but I wouldn't 'speak often' with some no-name duelist that never made it past the first level of a tournament. I eliminated any of those from the pile and started popping in disc after disc, going first through the ones with my own duels.

Nothing, no clue. I recognized a lot of faces, some less pleasant to remember than others, but how could I know if Coffee girl was sister to any of them? How could I not know the first time I met her? The only person in my life to never ask a thing of me and the only one that I'd give anything to, and I was such a myopic bastard I didn't even notice her. What if that bookshop hadn't given me a second chance?

Still no good. Impatiently I tossed the latest disc back onto the desk and inserted another, watching small and silent figures zip back and forth across the screen at an unnatural fast-forwarded pace. Multipersonality disorders, shrill blondes, loudmouths and the usual batch of relentless cheerleaders: business as usual. Nothing I wasn't familiar with…

Wait. Stop, rewind.

I could never miss that hair, blowing in the hard breeze that only those atop an airborne blimp could know. Coffee girl had been a ringside witness to not just any random duel but the final matches of my own tournament, a special invitation-only event. If that was where we first met then she was right, I did have a thousand and one other things to worry about. But now I was here again, and this time I was paying attention.

Volume, up.

To no avail, of course, even if she was talking to anyone it was impossible to hear over the shouting duelists. A little apart from the others, almost on the very edge of the screen, she hugged her arms to her chest and watched the duel with rapt fascination. I heard my own voice and she turned her head, looked right at me for just a moment. In the next moment her attention moved on, and she waved with a smile. Her lips moved in a greeting I couldn't quite hear, but I could see.

Nii-chan.

Who did she wave to? There were so many people. I rewound a few seconds back and this time I kept my eyes on the other edge of the screen. Nothing to see at first, just a hand that waved in reply from beyond a cluster of people that blocked my view. It wasn't until the duel finished and the crowd shifted that one of them moved forward, supporting the owner of that hand on one side as if he'd been injured. For exactly one second the camera caught his face, and I could see. I had only one word to say.

"Shit."

Why did it have to be _him?_

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.


	14. conclusion

'**conclusion'**

It was the first time I'd ever entered the bookshop without immediately purchasing my periodicals and coffee, and then go directly on to a café table. I was standing by the magazine racks in full view of the front door when she arrived, a bit breathless from the August heat and wearing a green sundress that emphasized the red in her hair. I can't believe they're related.

She saw me right away, and though she walked with a steady step I saw nervousness in her eyes. I really couldn't blame her.

"How could you sit at my table?" I asked, without preamble, not giving her a chance to even say hello. "How could you even bring yourself to ask? Your brother and everyone else in that group hates me, don't you?"

She blinked and hesitated, giving herself time to consider the question. Several agonizing heartbeats passed before she answered.

"I did," she finally admitted. "Or rather, as much as I've ever hated anyone. After everything I'd heard about you from my brother, and seen of you in person, I didn't like you at all. I thought you were arrogant, bossy, self-serving, and obsessed with winning."

And, ouch. With some effort, I kept my chin high.

"That's why I was so surprised to see you here. In a bookshop café, just reading, same as me. Out of all the people in the world, you were the last one I would have thought I'd have anything in common with. I was so surprised; I couldn't understand what you were even doing here."

She paused and smiled, in a self-abashed sort of away. "Honestly, I expected you to tell me to get lost when I asked you for a seat. I could hardly believe it when you said yes. That's when I started wondering if maybe everyone wasn't a little bit wrong about you, or at least didn't know everything there was to know. And as the weeks went by I realized, you came here because you just wanted some escape from the world. You're as human as anyone. You were just like me."

She flushed and looked down, as if afraid she'd gone too far. I moved a strand of hair to one side.

"You put aside all that dislike for the sake of our reading time," I murmured, "and thought that I would dump you because of your brother? You insult me."

Her face turned up sharply and she stared with surprised eyes. "I -"

"You're the only one in my life who's never asked me for anything, beyond a chair at my table. You might never understand how much that means to me but it's a lot, and I would not give you up for anything. I love you," I added fiercely.

Her breath quickened as my hands cupped her shoulders, drawing her closer. Were those tears, shining in her eyes?

"Meeting you changed everything," she whispered. "I love you too."

And we kissed, of course, never mind our highly visible position in the front of the store. Maybe the time had come for us to stop hiding in here anyway.

"You know you'll have to tell him before we go to Hong Kong," I murmured, in the brief moments between lip contact.

"Mm. But that's okay. Someone taught me how to stand up for myself."

The kisses were getting more involved, deeper. We ignored a passing comment to get a room.

"Just one more thing."

She tastes so perfect.

"Mm?"

Don't ever want it to stop.

"What's your name?"

**THE END**

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Peacewish: You all hate me, don't you?

Kaiba: Now you know how it feels.

Peacewish: But you're rich. At least you can retreat into your mansion and ignore people. Not me. I'm still looking for a job. My own character got a job faster than me!

Kaiba: Can you go two minutes without fretting about your pathetic unemployment and talk about the story? So we can get this over with?

Li: Word to the newbie, Kaiba, she finishes when she wants to. Trust me.

Peacewish: Butt out, Li-kun, this isn't even your fandom! Ahem. Congratulations, readers, you have just completed my most boring, unromantic, unemotional fic ever. Not even a single punch thrown, let alone a swordfight. What the hell are you all even doing here? Don't you know when I started posting that I expected maybe 50 reviews at the most?

Kaiba: Standard marketing analysis could have quantified potential consumer interest before-

Peacewish: Shut up, Kaiba.

Kaiba: I _will_ destroy you.

Peacewish: But yes, okay, the SxS pairing is a lot more popular than I originally thought. Originally, in fact, I didn't know it had any other support besides me. That's right – I conceived of the pairing all on my own and was genuinely surprised, upon browsing the web, to find out that several other writers had beaten me to the punch.

Kaiba: Snooze, you lose.

Peacewish: I read a number of them and enjoyed them, but I kept noticing a few cliches that I decided I'd pop if I ever got around to writing a fic of my own.

Kaiba: Cliché #1: I remember exactly who Serenity is, even though there was absolutely no reason at all during the hectic episodes of the Battle City Blimp that I'd spend more than a second looking in her direction.

Peacewish: No offense, Serenity, but you are kinda quiet.

Serenity: None taken.

Peacewish: At one time I thought I could write a fic where they get together, neither knowing who the other is, but when the series got to the blimp I realized that there was just no way Serenity wouldn't know Kaiba by sight. So I went with this instead.

Kaiba: Cliché #2: I target Serenity for no other reason than she is Wheeler's little sister.

Peacewish: Has its potential, but wears thin on plausibility and has been overused in fics.

Kaiba: Like I don't have anything better to do with my time than pursue that annoying loudmouth's kid sister? It's not like he's even my enemy. He'll take care of himself one of these days just by walking into a wall.

Joey: (sneezes)

Peacewish: Cliché #3: Serenity ends up working for Kaiba in some capacity, generally regarding Mokuba.

Kaiba: If my brother can referee an entire tournament, he really doesn't need a baby-sitter. And Kaiba Corporation hires experienced professionals with college degrees, thank you very much.

Serenity: And have I ever shown a modicum of interest in the world of dueling? No thanks.

Kabia: You called it a _silly duel_. Aargh!

Serenity: Get over it, sweetheart.

Peacewish: Cliché #4: Kaiba gets in a bad mood and stomps around firing the next employee who crosses his path.

Kaiba: Yeah right. Do you ignorant serfs have any idea how expensive it is to fire people in this day and age? There's severance pay, possible lawsuits if they think they've got a case of unjustified termination, and then there's the cost of finding and training a replacement. Particularly in the case of people who would be working on my top floor.

Peacewish: So really, I just wanted to try a fic very different in style and tone than the other SxS ones already out there. No sneaking around and hiding from the brother, no coincidental rescue scenes, just a simple and straightforward romance. This gave me more time to flesh out the personalities of our pair, which I only know so-so but readers assure me I did a good job with anyway. Go me.

Serenity: And maybe, just a little, trumpet your personal politics?

Peacewish: Well, now that you mention it…

Li: Here it comes, brace yourself.

Peacewish: My general theme of the story is independence. Witness Serenity gathering the courage to move out and get a job to support herself, Kaiba's freedom to do business how he pleases without judgement, and to a lesser extent the story on interest rates and why Kaiba (and I!) think they should be independent of central government control. Independence, however, cannot happen without first achieving separation, and separation comes with escape.

Serenity: Hence the bookshop.

Peacewish: Right! Our two beleaguered characters first seek isolation from the world, and when that is no longer enough they struggle for independence. The idea came to me when I was in Thailand, sorely missing my old habit of retreating into Barnes & Noble and just reading for hours on end. Such a thing did not exist in Thailand. Even so, the fic did not come easily to my fingertips. Ask me how long the first three chapters took.

Serenity: Um, a month?

Peacewish: Try a year.

Kaiba: Holy Duel Monsters, woman, government bureaucracies move faster than that.

Peacewish: Hate to admit it, but you're right. Stories without fast-paced action and intrigue just aren't my thing! I started it, stopped it, started it, stopped it, told myself it was the most boring thing in the world and came very close to sending all of it to the Recycle Bin. But something inside of me just kept hanging on, and when I finally finished that third chapter, a mere dozen months after I'd begun, I decided to hell with it and started posting. The enthusiastic response took me by surprise.

Kaiba: It's because it featured me.

Peacewish: No, I'm sure it was the libertarian and capitalist principles.

Kaiba: What's sad is, you really believe that.

Peacewish: Maybe it was that very simplicity that appealed to the readers. Not every romance, whatever the novelists of the world would have us believe, is an emotional roller coaster full of drama and angst. Most of my friends have been in five-plus year relationships without any fuss whatsoever. I wondered if I could pick the thread of a quiet and stable relationship out of the characters' otherwise troubled and chaotic lives, and center the fic on just that. Turns out, yes. So unexciting as it may have been, it touched something in the reader after all.

Serenity: And yet, there's just something missing.

Peacewish: Ah yes, cliché #5. Inevitably, Joey must find out. Why else would we write a relationship between his sister and the man he loathes above all else? It's fun!

Kaiba: For you, maybe.

Peacewish: Naturally, I had a specific reason not to do that one thing that all the readers expect and are now consequently left disappointed. My fic had Rules. I wrote it to be about our two characters, and only our two characters, and so there was very little else in their worlds that showed up here. My theme of escape and independence, remember. So, in addition to centering most of the action in our little bookshop, there were no names at all except the few times I had to drop Kaiba's. Also, there was no dialogue "spoken" except by Kaiba and Serenity. (Read chapter 6 when Serenity is molested again, you'll see.) Introducing Joey would break those rules.

Kaiba: Thank the Blue Eyes White Dragon! One SxS fic where I actually won't have to endure the mutt's company.

Peacewish: But… since you've all been so swell, we'll do that scene now. Think of it as that final tidbit scene that movies sometimes show after the credits have started to roll.

Kaiba: Hey!

Peacewish: Oh, sorry Kaiba. Too late.

Kaiba: (mutters)

_(cut to little café on an idyllic summer afternoon)_

Serenity: Now remember, Nii-chan, I want you to be polite.

Joey: Can't believe you started dating a guy without telling me…

Serenity: Er, well, I knew you'd fuss. And I really hope you'll get along, for my sake.

Kaiba: Serenity. _(coldly)_ Wheeler.

Joey: Oh look, it's Kaiba. What a surprise to see you in a restaurant, I didn't even think you ate. Always figured you just plugged yourself in at night, or something.

Kaiba: _(grinds teeth)_Won't you sit down?

Joey: As sincerely as I'm sure you mean that, no thanks. We're here to meet some jackass that thinks he can date my sister.

Kaiba: … Are you absolutely sure you're related?

Joey: Huh?

Serenity: Um, Nii-chan, let me explain this…

_(cut to across town)_

Yugi: Blah blah blah heart of the cards!

Tea: Did you guys hear something?

Tristan: Yeah, it sounded sort of like Joey screaming in anguish and then hitting the earth in a dead faint. Wonder what that's about.

Tea: Oh well, we'll find out sooner or later.

Tristan: Don't we always?

Peacewish: And there, dear readers, ends the story. Am I finished with the Yugi-Oh fandom for good? Well… I must confess I have another little plot bunny scrabbling away at my mind, but this would be one of those 'normal' fics with actual character names and plot, and I don't know if I feel comfortable enough in the series to tackle it (yet). It does include SxS though, just in case you were wondering.

Kaiba: Does it _star_ me, though?

Peacewish: However, I will tell you like I told the readers of Wolf Prince, I am absolutely not unveiling any new fic until I get myself a job. That's right, feeding and clothing myself are going to come in ahead of fanfic, priority-wise.

Kaiba: What the $#&!?

Peacewish: Thanks for being understanding, Kaiba, you're a man with a heart of gold.

Joey: Water… give me water…

Serenity: Here, Nii-chan, breathe into this paper bag.

Peacewish: Sayanora, friends, until my return.

(blows kiss)


End file.
